Something To Talk About
by Haleine Delail
Summary: Smith and Jones and the Judoon from a whole new angle. And boy, do they have something to talk about! A relationshippy fic about the aftermath of separation and loss. Martha Jones and Mr. Smith make an unforgettable connection.
1. Chapter 1

**THIS IS MORE OR LESS AN "EXPERIMENTAL" PIECE ABOUT TWO CHARACTERS WHO EXIST IN THE SAME WORLD, BUT WHO DO NOT INTERACT MUCH. I DON'T KNOW IF ANYONE WILL EVEN CARE ABOUT THIS SCENARIO, SO ANY FEEDBACK IS WELCOME.**

**TAKES PLACE JUST AFTER "LAST OF THE TIME LORDS."**

* * *

TWENTY-TWO

Twenty-two. To most people, it was nothing special. No new privileges, no rites of passage. Too young for milestone parties, too old for grandma's birthday money. Maybe just a few friends and a cake with twenty-two candles.

And Rose. When _he'd_ turned twenty two, Rose had been there, and she'd been fully his. They had spent the day playing miniature golf, eating chicken wings at the pub and watching sport on the telly, even though it bored her stupid. Back then, she'd loved him, and only him. She was innocent, you could say.

But today, on _her_ twenty-second birthday, she looked world-weary. She'd looked that way for a year now, and he recognised that she needed sorely a reprieve. And, he thought, she deserved a proper night out with her boyfriend.

And so, Mickey had planned ahead for this birthday, for once. He had made reservations at a posh Italian restaurant which was more than he could really afford. He'd bought a new jacket for the occasion, cleaned up his flat and ordered flowers delivered to her office that day. He had actually paid attention the past few months when she talked about the things she'd like to have, and he'd settled on a biography of Charles Dickens which she'd been fingering at local bookstores. He had never known her to enjoy historical biographies, but it didn't matter – many things about her had changed recently, he supposed this was just par for the course. He had even done that dreaded thing he said he would never do: _buy scented candles_. He wanted his bedroom to be as welcoming and heavenly as possible tonight.

And Rose. She looked meticulously beautified tonight; gorgeous as ever. He hadn't told her where they were going, but he'd warned her: a dress, high heels, makeup, hair, the whole nine yards. And she had delivered. But she couldn't hide what was in her eyes – the same thing that had lingered there for thirteen months. Grief. Loss. Memories. Sometimes he thought she looked blank, like a lobotomised patient. Other times he knew better. So many things were going on in her mind, she just didn't know where to begin to express anything, and so everything stayed shut away.

"Do you like it?" he asked, as she opened her gift.

"Yes," she said, smiling. "Yeah, I do. I didn't think you'd noticed me looking at it."

"Well," he confessed sheepishly. "I've sort of been watching you."

"Payin' attention, have you?" she asked, laughing for the first time in days.

But then, just as quickly as it had come on, the laugh faded away, and the book sat in her lap, and she stared at it. The old look came back into her eyes, and her lips pursed to stifle a sigh.

He tried to suppress a rising anger. He'd learned to live with the ghosts in Rose's mind, but tonight was supposed to be special. Just once, could she not pretend she was a normal girl out to dinner with her normal boyfriend, instead the long-lost, lovelorn companion of a time-traveling alien from a parallel universe? Just once, could she not focus on the here and now, instead of remembering other times, other planets and other universes? So what if she had seen the death of the earth? Tonight was a night for celebrating _birth._

But, as if schizophrenia were contagious, his dismay subsided along with her brief happiness. He knew that this train of thought was selfish. Tonight was supposed to be her night, and here he was, running an internal soliloquy about how she couldn't focus on him. He knew very well that the one-year anniversary of what she called "the day that I died" was quickly approaching, and what that day had meant to her. He decided to swallow his jealousy and any feelings of resentment, and give her the opportunity to talk about it.

"Where did he take you?" he asked.

"What?" she asked, being involuntarily snapped out of some stupor.

"The Doctor," he said, swallowing hard, trying desperately to keep his voice even. "Where did he take you for your birthday?"

She stared at him stunned for a long moment, her lower lip hanging down as though it held all of the face's weight. Her eyes almost betrayed an anger. Finally, she answered, "I... I can't remember."

He knew that couldn't be true. He knew the Doctor and he knew Rose. He knew that bloody Time Lord had done something spectacular for her, and he knew she'd remember. "Come on, love, tell me!"

"Mickey, I don't remember, all right? Now just drop it," she insisted with more gusto than he thought strictly necessary. For a horrible moment he wondered if they had...

But he dismissed that thought. He'd asked her outright a year ago, assuring her that he would love her no matter what, whether she had ever had a sexual relationship with the Doctor. She had sworn on her life that she had not. He had been surprised by her answer, given how much he knew they'd loved each other, but he believed her. Now, however, apparently he'd tapped into something private and hidden, and she didn't want to share.

All right then. This would be an awfully quiet dinner. She didn't want to talk about the Doctor, and she never wanted to talk about anything else – so be it. They would eat their ziti in silence. And their Tiramisú, as it turned out. And they would walk home along the embankment, holding hands but without discussion, and they would make love in the dark, noiselessly, passionlessly.

By the time he heard her drop listlessly off to sleep beside him, he was fuming again. He felt cursed. He couldn't help how he felt: he loved her. But she was hung up on a man who had the universe, literally, at his fingertips. In no lifetime, on no planet nor in any dimension could Mickey Smith ever hope to measure up. He did his best for her, and it was never enough. But he could hardly judge her for her feelings about the Doctor when he hadn't been able to let go himself. Why the hell couldn't he let go? Why had God or Shivna or Fate or _whoever_ afflicted him with a consuming love for a woman who couldn't ever return that feeling?

Not for the first time, he thought of leaving. He thought of going to Australia or America or someplace where he could start anew. Put a good chunk of distance between himself and Rose, and _force himself_ to get over her. He'd never see her or her family again, and he'd certainly wash his hands of the Doctor.

And then the phone rang out in the dark.

He groped for it on the nightstand. "Hello?"

"Mickey, you're needed."

"What is it?" Rose asked, having been awakened unceremoniously from a light slumber.

"It's just work, baby, go back to sleep," he told her.

She obeyed.

"What do you need?" Mickey asked into the receiver.

"Just put your clothes on and come down here. We have a job for you."


	2. Chapter 2

**A DRINK AND A SHAG**

"Oh, this is _adorable_," Tish moaned as she pulled a turquoise sun dress out of a piece of luggage. "Where'd you get it?" She held the spaghetti straps up to her shoulders to see how it might look on her.

Martha smiled mirthlessly at the memory of trying to negotiate with the sales clerk and intergalactic currency. "Drasah 12," she answered.

"Excuse me?"

"Drasah 12," Martha repeated. "It's a planet. Chased a nest of blood-sucking Eukleks out of the Siall Galaxy and ended up imprisoning them in the traitor's jail on Drasah 12. Kind of a long story, actually. Anyway, the royal family invited us to a banquet, so I had to buy a dress." She gestured listlessly at the bright silk garment.

She also mentally battered herself for allowing to enter the memory of how her traveling partner never noticed, even a little bit, how great the dress looked on her after she'd spent hours poring over the shop's selection, trying to find the _one_ that might catch his eye...

Tish just stared at her, still trying to process the myriad of different and strange names she had just spouted. Martha stared back, her eyes half-closed, her mouth set in a weary, don't-mess-with-me position.

Tish decided to heed this particular advice, but it didn't mean she was going to leave the whole thing alone. She turned, put the adorable turquoise dress on a hanger and stashed it in Martha's closet, leaving the rest of her sister's luggage still to be unpacked.

"Martha," Tish said quietly, sitting down to join her sister on the bed. "You love him."

Martha's eyes cast downward, and she let out a little chuckle. "Yeah."

"You've loved him ever since we saw you with him at Lazarus' party."

"Way before that, Tish. Light years before." Martha answered, now looking up at the ceiling, but pointedly avoiding her sister's eyes. Tears flooded them and threatened to spill over.

"Then why leave?" Tish pleaded, taking Martha's hands. "Why would you walk away from a life that allows you to save the world, see the other side of the universe, _even travel in time_, if you love him?"

Finally, Martha met her eyes. The tears overflowed and now made neat little rivers down her cheeks. She looked as sad as Tish had ever seen her. She looked as though she had once posessed the universe, and now had had to give it up. Tish supposed that might be how Martha must actually feel.

"He's nine hundred years old, Tish."

"Wow, really?"

"Really. And do you know how much longer he will live?"

"No."

"Neither do I. Neither does he. Could be another nine hundred years, could be another week. And he can regenerate his body and face and personality and extend his stay. Time will tell. And do you know how much longer I will live?"

"No."

"Neither do I. But it won't be another nine hundred years. And I definitely cannot regenerate."

"Oh, I see," Tish said. And she really did see. She saw how a relationship between a regenerating near-immortal and a human being who was bound to live a hundred years or less could be problematic. What heartbreak for the Doctor, in the long-run, but what heartbreak for those left behind in the here-and-now. Wouldn't he be better off traveling with other Time Lords?

"But do you know what the worst part is?" Martha asked, no bitterness betraying itself. Only sadness, regret.

"That's not the worst part?"

"No. The worst part is..." and she took a deep breath. "In nine hundred years of traveling through time, space, relationships and heartbreak, he has had _one_ person whom he would call the love of his life."

Martha's eyes now bore holes through Tish's. Tish's nose scrunched up, and she leaned forward secretively and asked, "Was it Captain Jack?"

"What? No! Are you mad? No!" Martha screeched, stifling a laugh.

"Sorry, I just thought... if that was the case, it... it would be really hard for you to have a relationship with him."

"Well, thank you for putting things into perspective. But no."

"Fine. Continue."

Martha gave her an awful look, and then took another deep breath. Her voice broke as she said, "Her name was Rose. And it wouldn't have been so bad if she had been long ago and far away. But he lost her about a month before he met me, and so I spent _the entire time_ living in her shadow. Loving him _hopelessly_, and living with her ghost."

"I see – can't get over the ex, eh? Oh, I've been there," Tish said. She gestured in a little dismissive wave that reminded Martha that Tish would never, ever be _there_. She would never know what it was like to live in a time-traveling spaceship and have life-changing, adrenaline-pumping, existence-affirming adventures with the man she loved, only to have him pine away constantly for someone who was trapped in a parallel universe. The angst, quite literally, followed them across the stars and could make planets weep, if the Doctor got crazed enough. A gargantuan hunger was in perpetual suspense in the air on the TARDIS, as the Doctor hungered for Rose and Martha hungered for the Doctor. No fulfillment was ever had, no satisfaction and very little solace. And so Martha and the Doctor just kept on running...

As many wanker boyfriends as Tish had had, and would have, in her life, she would never be _there_.

And to her surprise, it somehow offended Martha that anyone could just dismiss the Doctor's pain as something as childish as 'can't get over an ex.' She resented Rose's influence on him, yes, but she did not appreciate her Doctor being chalked up to a banal schoolboy.

Quietly, Martha tried to defend Rose's relationship with the Doctor. "She wasn't just an ex, Tish. She was... more than that."

"What? They had kids?"

Martha smiled this time. "Again, thank you for the perspective."

"Anytime."

"We're talking about a man who has been to every planet, every galaxy, every time period conceivable. We're talking about a deeply damaged individual who literally _watched his home planet burn_, right before his eyes, and with it, his entire family and all of his brethren. We're talking about a man who has met Cleopatra, Mata Hari, Madame de Pompadour... Mae West! And he chose this _one_, tiny, teen-aged, blonde shopgirl from the council estates to love, and to try to earn her love in return. I asked what was so special about her, and all he could say was 'she makes me better.' That's it. Just 'she makes me better.' I mean – all he's seen and done, and _she_ makes him better. Can you imagine a better compliment than that? Can you imagine how brilliant she must be?"

Tish smiled. "Yeah. She must be."

Martha had never voiced this opinion out loud, and she didn't allow her mind to go there very often because it hurt too much. She reminded herself, whenever she caught herself wallowing in self-pity, that the Doctor was no ordinary man, and therefore his love must be extraordinary. Sometimes the thought that the Doctor and Rose's love was a cosmic event pre-destined from creation itself, dramatic though it was, kept her oddly sane. The idea that it was a star-crossed fate, and not something defective about her, Martha, keeping the Doctor's eyes from her... well, sometimes she found that a comfort.

Now Joan Redfern, there was absolutely nothing comforting about that woman. That whole debacle had been just plain horrible. Another place where she rarely allowed her mind to wander...

Unexpectedly, Tish hugged her big sister, nearly cutting off Martha's breath in so doing.

"What was that for?" Martha asked when she was released.

"I'm just proud of you," Tish told her. "And you're a much bigger person than I am."

Martha was touched, and just smiled.

"You know what you need?" the younger sister asked.

"What?"

"What you need, big sister, is a drink and a shag. Let's go get you a bit of both! Take your mind off all this alien business and plant yourself firmly back in reality!"

"Tish!"

"What? It'll do you good!"

"Well, I don't know about the second part, but I'm definitely amenable to the drink part!"


	3. Chapter 3

**WE HAVE NOT INFORMED MISS TYLER**

A familiar blip as Mickey's security badge ran through the scanner, and then the door opened. It was the Codex Wing of Torchwood, a secretive facility within the massive complex that only the orgainsation's elite even knew existed. Fortunately, his experience with time travel, computers and vanquishing aliens had helped to fast-track him into the upper echelons.

A man in a dark suit greeted Mickey on the other side of the door.

"Mr. Smith," the man said, shaking hands.

"Mr. Randall. What's this about?"

Another man in a lighter-coloured suit came out of nowhere and took Mickey's hand, shaking it vigourously. "Mr. Smith. It's an honour, sir."

"Yeah, right. Who are you?"

"Oh, I'm Mitchell Whetstone," the man answered, pushing his glasses up. He had a North American accent, and stood a bit hunched over like a mad scientist's sidekick. "I'm the physicist in charge of... well, this." Whetstone gestured to a gigantic device in the middle of a sterile-white laboratory.

"Would you like some coffee, Mr. Smith?" Randall asked.

Mickey stared at him deadpan for a few moments, and then said, "Did you drag me out of bed at two a.m. on my girlfriend's birthday to give me coffee?"

"Indeed not."

"Then get to the point."

Mr. Randall started walking toward the huge device. "Have you ever heard of the Judoon, Mr Smith?"

"Yeah, they look like rhinos, don't they?"

Randall nodded. "Not overly intelligent creatures, but still, they possess a water-based teleportation technology that is beyond our understanding."

"Oh yeah, I've heard they can make it rain upwards."

"Actually, we suspect that it's not of Judoon origin at all, but rather it is borrowed science. No matter. Whatever it is, it is our intention to procure it."

Mickey crossed his arms, stopping near the device. "You mean that you want _me_ to procure it."

"Exactly," Randall replied, stopping near Mickey.

"Why me? Isn't this the sort of thing you usually have Paulson and Danielewski doing?"

The mousy Mr. Whetstone, again pushing up his glasses, came forward. He stood at least half a head shorter than Mickey, which was made all the more obvious by Whetstone's stoop. "Well, you see, there's a problem with that. The Judoon only exist in Dimension Alpha."

Mickey rolled his eyes. Dimension Alpha. The "other world" he'd come from, in which his gran was dead, Pete Tyler was roadkill and Torchwood had been destroyed. He had no particular desire to return there. Never mind that – he didn't know it was even _possible_ to return there!

"How can you do that?" he asked.

"I studied Pete Tyler's dimensional jumper," Whetstone told him. "Fascinating device. It uses the oscillating nature of human cellular activity, and the non-temporally-based properties of the human mind, and fuses them to create a physically oscillating, temporally displaced field which can envelop the body and reconstitute it in another universe. So simple, yet it eluded us for years!"

The machine-gun speech reminded Mickey of a shorter, nerdier Doctor. Well, shorter anyway.

"But Pete's thing-a-majig only worked when the rift was open. Now that it's sealed..."

"Ahh," Whetstone said, holding one finger aloft. "That's the beauty part. I've figured out a way to fool the device into thinking the rift is open by prolonging the oscillation process and extending the the temporal bracket exponentially. If there's a rift between dimensions anytime between now and the year five billion, we can use it."

Mickey didn't like the sound of any of this, and not for the usual reasons.

"That actually sounds dangerous," Mickey said, surprising even himself. He was shocked at how much of Whetstone's insanity he understood.

The small man nervously pushed up his glasses yet again, and said, "Well, yes. There's a slightly greater chance of permanent insanity as a result, not to mention celllllr dispzzznnn."

"Not to mention _what_?" Mickey asked in response to Whetstone's muffled trailing off.

Randall answered. "Cellular dispersion. It can happen if you oscillate for too long. It means that the cells..."

"Disperse. Yeah, I get it," Mickey interrupted.

He walked up to the giant device, and put his hand on the hard silvery outside. He turned and faced the men in suits, who seemed to be waiting nervously for Mickey to say something, anything. So he said, "I'll ask you again: why me?"

"Because it's your home world, of course," Randall answered silkily, condescendingly. Mickey did not like his tone, but said nothing. "You have experience there, you know the quirks, the pitfalls, the backwardness of the technology. You know how to tread lightly, Mr. Smith, not to mention, you've already made the dimensional jump, so we are pretty certain that you can survive it."

"All right, next question: why not Rose? She's higher up in this company that I am, and she might be pretty cross if she finds out you've asked me and not her. Besides, she understands more about alien technology and politics than I do, she might be able to weasel some intel out of those Judoon characters. Plus, all those other things you said about me, they're true of her too."

The two men in suits looked meaningfully at each other. Mickey suspected they had anticipated this question.

"We considered that," Whetstone assured Mickey. "We have not informed Miss Tyler of this endeavour because... well, because..."

Randall finished his thought. "Because we feel that Miss Tyler's presence in Dimension Alpha would cause her to have, shall we say, undue distractions that would take away from the subject at hand."

"Ah," Mickey said, rocking back on his heels and not making eye contact. "I see."

"We have not even informed her of the device for that reason. Her priorities would immediately shift, and she is too valuable to Torchwood. Her knowledge of the Bad Wolf virus alone..."

Mickey grew defensive. "So you're sayin' you're not going to give her the _one _opportunity she's waited all year for, the opportunity that means she might not whither away and die before age twenty-three, just because you need her to sort out a couple of computer glitches for you?"

"Now, Mr. Smith, you know it's more complicated than that."

"Is it? Because it looks to me like you're keeping Rose Tyler from the Doctor for selfish reasons. And I swore long ago that I would _never_ let that happen."

"Rose Tyler has inside knowledge of Torchwood. Torchwood is an official enemy of the Doctor. If they exchanged information..."

Mickey's anger flared. "What a bloody cop-out! He doesn't even exist in this universe, you git! How can we be an enemy of a man who doesn't exist? And even stupider than that, Torchwood doesn't exist in Dimension Alpha anymore! What kind of information do you think Rose is going to give him, how to turn on the lights in the canteen? Please!"

There was silence as all three men considered the implications. Finally, Randall spoke. "Does this mean you won't do it?"

Mickey paused for effect, and then announced, "I'll do it. But when I get back, I'm done with Torchwood, and Miss Tyler will be informed of everything."

"Are those your terms?" Randall asked. "Shall we consider this your final mission for Torchwood?"

"Yes. I do this, I'm free and clear, and Rose Tyler knows everything I know, with no interference and no harrassment from you lot. _Comprende?_"

"Loud and clear, sir," Randall answered. Even when calling Mickey 'sir,' Randall managed to sound contemptuous and condescending. Mickey tried not to let it bother him as they armed him, and then strapped him into a small seat at the center of the large circular device. They gave him a smaller version of the giant machine that would bring him back to _this_ universe.

"Is this going to hurt?" he asked.

Whetstone told him, "No, you won't feel a thing."

"What if my cells get dispersed?"

"We'll tell Miss Tyler you said goodbye, then."

"Lovely."

"Here we go!"


	4. Chapter 4

**LAST SEEN ON THE MOON**

Mickey had no idea what sort of coordinates Randall and Whetstone had set up. He didn't know if he would wind up in Canary Wharf in Dimension Alpha, exactly where he'd left from, or on the planet Frippton or something. But, before putting him inside that device, Randall had told him that he was to go to Royal Hope hospital, check in, and find a clever way to ask about the affair on the moon, to gather as much detail as he could about how the water-based teleportation works. The upwards rain.

As it turned out, he landed right across the street. It seemed to be a few hours after he left because he could see the sun peeking a bit over the buildings around him, and he felt a distinct early-morning chill.

The wankers back at Torchwood had told him to report some sort of vague symptoms, like stomach cramps, nausea, shortness of breath. They'd admit him, waste a day or two running tests, and that would give him time to chat up the staff.

"Good morning sir, how can I help you?" the crisp, shiny lady at the front desk asked.

"Um, I've had these stomach cramps... and some nausea and shortness of breath for about a week now. It's not getting any better." As an afterthought, he hunched over a bit and held his stomach. Dear God, he was a lousy actor.

"I'll direct you to emergency services, right around that way, in the west wing of the hospital," she answered sprightly, standing and pointing.

"Thanks," he said, trying to feign weakness.

He followed her directions and easily found the Emergency ward. Randall had been right – after spending half an hour asking questions, checking his vitals and poking at his tummy, Dr. Thyne thought Mickey should be admitted for tests. A half hour after that, Mickey was in a hospital gown watching a quiz show on the telly and sipping apple juice in bed. He didn't feel like talking to anyone just now – he'd known the answers to all the sport questions thus far and had "won" fourteen thousand pounds for himself. He was on a roll.

At about eight o'clock, a large woman in a suit entered his room. She was accompanied by about six fresh-faced students with clipboards, looking half-frightened, half-eager. Except for one. A beautiful girl, dark like him, stood at the front of the group. She was preoccupied, and the look on her face suggested sadness as well. He'd seen that look perpetually on Rose's face for the past thirteen months.

It had been a long while since he'd noticed any girl other than Rose, and he found that he rather enjoyed the feeling again. Being attracted to someone meant a world of possibilities...

But he was still taken. He could look, and that was all.

The large suited woman adressed Mickey. "Now, then, Mr. Smith, a very good morning to you. How are you today?"

"Feelin' a bit... _bleah_," he answered.

Something about this seemed to spark some signs of life in the pretty girl in the front. A glimmer of recognition seemed to shine in her eyes for a few moments as she stared at Mickey. Then she blinked it away.

"Mickey Smith, admitted this morning with stomach cramps and nausea," she large lady said, addressing her students.

"Miss Swales?"

"Mrs. Brams?" Julia Stoker asked, surprised to hear her name spoken.

"Your thoughts?" the large Mrs. Brams asked of her.

Julia Swales tentatively suggested that Mr. Smith might have the beginnings of Spanish flu.

"If you had consulted his chart, you'd find that there is no fever and no vomiting. We'll try again," she admonished. She gestured toward the man in the bed. "Jones, why don't you see what you can find.

This too seemed to spark something in the pretty student. She looked at the woman incredulously for a moment. "Excuse me?"

Brams rolled her eyes. "Bloody hell, Stoker was right about you lot. Miss Jones, this is Mr. Smith. Take his vitals."

The girl blinked away yet another expression of utter surprise, and nervously, she stepped toward Mickey and put her stethoscope in her ears. She listened to his heart, and after a moment, she looked up at him. The look in her eyes was deadly serious, almost fearful. He tried to make her smile by winking at her, but it seemed only to make things worse. Her hand began to shake, and then she began to slide the stethescope further to the right.

"Are you having trouble locating the heart, Miss Jones?" Brams asked, crossing her arms sternly across her massive chest.

Miss Jones, as she was called, stood up straight suddenly, stared at her superior with another incredulous, wide-eyed gaze, and then, said, "No, Mrs. Brams. The heart is right where it should be."

"I am exceedingly glad to hear that," Brams sighed. "Perhaps we should move on. Mr. Smith is being held for testing, perhaps we shall have a bit more to go on tomorrow. This way please."

Miss Jones was the last to leave Mickey's side. Just before she walked away, he whispered, "What, did you think I might have a second heart?"

She gasped. The same look was still on her face, and she stared at Mickey stunned. "I've got to go," she insisted, and ran from the room.

Mickey was sorry he'd frightened her somehow, but he wasn't sure what he'd said or done. Too bad – he'd have liked to get to know her better.

_Taken, taken, taken, _he reminded himself.

This was far from Mickey's first time pretending to be sick. He'd faked every disease known to mankind to get out of his exams when he was at school, and his gran always believed him. Sweet woman. Dead in this dimension. One of the many reasons why he just wanted to get his information and get back to Canary Wharf so he could tell Torchwood to shove it.

Still, he had always marveled at how easy it was to _convince yourself_ that you're sick when you're playing the part for others' benefit. He realised this as he was awakened from a deep sleep. A hand was on his arm.

"Mr. Smith?"

He opened his eyes. It was her. The lovely Miss Jones. He couldn't help but smile when he saw her.

"Hi," he said, yawning ungracefully. "Sorry, must've nodded off."

Without expression, she handed him a tiny cup with two pills. "Take these, please."

"What are they?"

"Anti-nausea medications," she told him. "They'll tide you over until we can work out what's wrong with you."

Not wanting to blow his cover, he swallowed them with some apple juice. He hoped that anti-nausea medicine didn't have the opposite effect on people who weren't actually nauseated.

"Thank you," she said, again, expressionlessly. "I'll be back later to check your vitals after the meds."

She turned to leave, and as she did so, he blurted out, "Wait!"

She faced him, and the dead look in her eyes was back. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry if I said or did something before that scared you," he said. "I was just joking."

"It was nothing," she told him. "Don't worry about it."

"No, bit I _am _worried. I'm really, really sorry. It's just that..." he saw an opportunity here. "I'm kind of nervous about being here."

"Really? Why?"

"Well, I've never been in hospital before," he told her. "I mean, I've never been the one in the bed. Of course I've visited them before..."

She softened. She came closer to the bed. "There's nothing to be nervous about. We'll run some tests, we'll figure out the best possible action, and then we'll send you home. I'm sure it'll be simple as that." She actually smiled now.

"But what if..." he paused.

"What if what?"

He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Ain't this the hospital that, you know, went to the moon?"

She sighed. This was not helping her mood.

"Yeah, it is." She actually sat down in the chair near where she was standing.

"What was that like?"

"Strange," she said, without moving her lips. "Brilliant. Strange."

He could see her remembering, and he suspected that her mind was being flooded with memories, but he had no idea just how poignant those memories were for her right now.

"I heard it rained upwards!" he said, wide-eyed like a little boy. He felt bad for lying to her, but it was his last mission.

"It did," she said, looking at him in a fog. "It rained upwards, and then there was a terrible crash. Threw us all about like an earthquake. When we went to the window, Julia and me, we were on the moon."

"Whoa," he sighed. "Was there like a light or anything?"

She thought about it. "Yeah. Yeah, now I think about it, there was. A very bright light, like so bright we couldn't see anything for a few seconds, you know. And then it stopped. And it had been lunchtime, but it looked like night outside. Until we realised..." she swallowed hard.

Feigning amazement, he said, "Go on."

"And then of course everyone inside the hospital went completely mental."

He chuckled, "I bet."

Another question occurred to him, it was part of the intelligence process.

"How'd you get out of it?"

"I dunno," she answered, staring out the window. "I was unconscious. I had run out of air. When I came to, I was in the back of an ambulance with a mask over my face."

"So was it aliens, or what?"

She looked at him with surprise, and then fascination. "What would make you say that?"

"Well, rains upwards, hospital shakes, ends up on the moon. Not exactly terrestrial, eh?"

She sighed. "I don't know what it was. Some, I don't know, _soldiers _came into the hospital, they scanned people, and when they were finished, they left. I passed out while I was giving CPR to this man..." she explained, and her voice caught a bit in her throat.

"Had the aliens attacked him?" Mickey asked, his mock-amazement having gone away and his trademark scowl had come back.

"No, this lady... she..." Martha began. "I'm sorry, why do you want to know that?"

He shrugged, remembering his cover. "Just curious."

"Right," she said, standing up. "Anyway, one of us will be back in a bit to check your vitals again. Go back to sleep, okay, Mr. Smith?"


	5. Chapter 5

**SOMETHING TO TALK ABOUT**

By the time anyone remembered to check Mickey's vitals, he was gone.

During the day, he had wandered about the hospital a bit, playing the same daft, wide-eyed character who had "heard rumours" about the hospital on the moon. Not surprisingly, most of the patients hadn't been here when it happened, but plenty of the custodians, service crew, foodservice workers, not to mention doctors and nurses, had been. And they all had the same story to tell. Raining upwards. Earthquake, then bright light. Blimey, we're on the moon. Militant rhinos scanning people. Running out of oxygen.

The only thing that varied was the end of the story. Some had passed out from the oxygen deficiency, some had not. Those who had not, they reported more upwards rain on the moon, and another bright light. The same description of events unfolded, everyone seemed to remember, but no-one seemed actually to _know _anything. This course of action was much like squeezing water from a stone.

And so he left. He didn't bother to check out, he just left. No one tried to stop him, the staff barely noticed.

He wasn't sure where he could go to get more intel. Briefly, he considered teleporting back to that arrogant bastard Randall to find out, but the thought of talking to that man again so soon did not sit well. In addition, he knew that the more he used the teleportation device, the greater the chances for cellular dispersal. He decided he needed to find a place to gather his thoughts and decide on a battle plan.

He went around the corner and saw an inviting, not-too-crowded tavern from across the street.

* * *

Tish was roughly the same size as Martha, and that meant pretty flippin' small. Therefore, Martha had never quite understood how on Earth it was that Tish could drink twice as much. As Martha was hitting the halfway mark on her first glass, Tish was approximately in the same place on her second, and was busy contemplating a third.

Just in time, the barman brought over two glasses of the same, explaining that the two gents at the corner table sent them over. The "two gents" were good-looking enough, and looked to be about their age, but they only smiled and waved politely, and showed no inclination toward coming over to chat up the Jones girls. Both girls quietly assumed the boys would eventually make their way over – Tish hoped, Martha dreaded.

The girls thanked he barman. Tish asked, "So where were we?"

"Brighton."

"Right. So we get to the hotel, and he hasn't even made a reservation! He said he had the whole thing planned, but all he'd done was googled 'hotels in Brighton' and hoped for the best! I mean... ugh!" she said, downing the rest of her second drink. She slid the third over and placed it in front of her.

"Sorry," Martha said without feeling, without really looking at Tish.

"Martha, are you all right?"

"Yeah."

"Really, you can talk to me. That's why we came out tonight."

"Yeah."

Tish paused and searched her sister's face. "Martha, I'm getting married to Gordon Brown and we're going to live in Kuala Lumpur, is that all right?"

"Yeah."

Tish reached across the table and cradled Martha's chin between her thumb and forefinger. She turned Martha's face upwards so that she could meet her eyes.

Martha blinked a few times and, this time honestly, muttered "Sorry." She sat back in her chair and took a sip from her drink, followed by a heavy sigh.

"Is there anything I can do?" asked Tish.

"Not really," Martha told her. "I just miss him, you know? I thought I would feel better with a bit of separation, but... no such luck. And then today... there was this man... Mr. Smith..."

"What about him?"

How could Martha explain the overwhelming sense of déjà vu she'd felt when she'd been introduced to Mr. Smith this morning? Not just his name, but the circumstances. Some of Mrs. Brams' words had been verbatim the same as when Mr. Stoker had introduced _the other_ Mr. Smith. And then he'd asked about the Judoon Platoon on the Moon... she had chills.

"Nothing."

"Was he cute?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Martha answered with no feeling.

Tish smiled teasingly. "Another tall skinny white bloke with mad hair?"

"No," Martha said. She seemed to be staring off into space. "A black man, average height, very nice build, with skin like coffee and cream. A determined-looking mouth, angular eyebrows and eyes that understand more than they let on."

Tish was taken aback. "Wow. Sounds like you took a pretty close look!"

Martha continued to stare for so long that Tish finally turned. A man matching Martha's description was standing in the doorway. He scanned the crowd, and finally crossed to the bar.

"My God! Is that him?" Tish asked her.

"Yeah," Martha said, snapping out of her stupor. "It is."

"Well, he _is _cute! Go say hello."

"No, no, I can't do that," Martha protested.

"Why not? It's like kismet that he's here!"

Martha recalled some words that she'd actually said to the Doctor a while back, and now she applied them to herself. "Ever heard of rebound?"

"So what? It's not like you're going to marry the guy. Just go and say hello!"

"Tish, I don't want to, okay?"

But before Martha could stop her, she had called out, "Mr. Smith!" and then turned her head away so quickly that when Mr. Smith looked over, it very clearly looked as though Martha had done it. Smoothly, Tish glided away and sat down at the table with the two young men who had bought their drinks.

Martha smiled shyly and waved, and to her surprise, the man started to walk over, drink in hand. He sat down across from her, and smiled easily, saying "Hello there."

"Hi," she said, less at ease.

"I'm Mickey," he told her. "You don't have to keep calling me Mr. Smith."

"Martha," she replied. They shook hands.

"Nice to meet you, Martha."

"So," she asked, looking at him a bit sideways. "How are those stomach cramps faring?"

"Oh, fine. They went away."

"I see."

After a beat, they both began to speak. "Listen," they said in unison.

They both giggled a bit, and Martha said, "You first."

"All right. Um, I know I said this before, but I want to say it again. I'm very, very sorry for whatever it is that I did to make you so uncomfortable this afternoon."

Martha sighed. "I don't think it was anything you did, Mickey. It's just been a hard week. Hard year, if you want to know the truth."

"Really? I'm sorry to hear that. You looked sort of..." he hesitated. "...well, almost frightened before."

"No, no. It's just that you reminded me of someone then. Not now, just _then. _Not frightened," she assured him, taking sip of her drink. "Just... heartbroken, that's all."

_Whoa, nelly. Did I really just say that to a total stranger? _she asked herself.

"That's all?" Mickey asked incredulously. "The words _that's all_ should never come after the word _heartbroken_. Heartbreak is serious business, Martha. You should treat it like any other affliction. Come on, you're in medical school, you should know this stuff."

He was being just a bit whimsical, but with a totally straight face, and she found it kind of charming.

"So now pretend I'm the doctor," he told her, in the same whimsical fashion. Somehow, she found this particular line much less charming. An unpleasant wave of surprised, embarrassed heat rushed over her.

"Oh Mickey," she said, leaning back in her chair. "If only you knew what you were asking of me."

He chuckled a bit. "Yeah, none of the women in my life seem to find that one very funny."

"Pardon?" she asked.

"Nothing. I'm just sayin'... if you're the afflicted, and I'm the one treating you, then I would ask you questions like..." he put his chin between his thumb and forefinger in mock-thought. "How long have you been noticing the symptoms, Miss Jones?"

She was charmed again, and she grinned. "You really want to know? I mean, this is quite a large can of worms."

He leaned forward. "Yes, I really want to know."

"All right. One week," she told him.

"One week?" he exclaimed. "Well then, what was all that about a hard year? I assumed that meant you'd been dealing with the break-up for a twelvemonth."

"Well," she sighed. "Really, I've been dealing with _never really being together_ for a twelvemonth."

"How do you mean?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

"I fancied him," she told him, trying to sound nonchalant and failing. "Well, really I was head over heels for him. And he was fond of me... but he'd had this... companion. A while back."

"An old girlfriend?" he asked.

"Sort of. And he made no secret of the fact that he would have stayed with her forever, and that I was no kind of replacement. But they got separated by circumstances, and there was no hope of them getting back together, so... I was what he had to settle for."

Mickey was aghast. "Whoa," he said, nearly gasping. "Boy, do I hear that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. But I'm way stupider than you. Wanna know why?"

"Why?"

"Cause I got the same exact story to tell, but I'm still with her."

Martha smiled sympathetically. She would never judge him for that. If Mickey felt about his girlfriend the way Martha had felt, well then, she completely understood why he would put up with being second best.

"You're not stupid," she assured him. "You're in love."

"Sometimes I can't tell the difference."

"So what's your story?"

"Met her a few years ago and we hit it off, you know? Things were going fine, and then she met this bloke, and suddenly... it was like I didn't exist. She would take off for months at a time and I'd not hear from her until she needed a favour. One time, she made me drive all the way up to Cardiff to bring her passport."

"And you did it," Martha said, still smiling with sympathy.

"And I did it," Mickey told her. "And then when she and this bloke finally got split up for good, about a year ago, oh, it was tears and recriminations for months."

"Months?"

"Months. She cried for about sixty days solid, and I tried to comfort her. I told her I'd be there for her, I told her I'd never leave, but it wasn't good enough because _I wasn't him_. And there isn't a bloody thing I can do about that."

Mickey's description sounded so much like her own feelings, she almost burst into tears on the spot.

"Do you feel like sometimes she's looking _through _you, not _at _you?" she asked him.

"All the time," he said. "Sometimes I feel like looking behind me to see if he's there. Did he ever let his guard down and begin to tell a story, and then stop short because _he just can't go there_?" He said the last part of the phrase with mock-drama.

"Oh God!" she exclaimed. "More times than I can count! It was like living with a ghost!"

"Yes. That's exactly what it's like," Mickey mumbled, pained. "Ugh, it's torture. Really is sometimes."

"For a long time, I thought I'd be able to live with it forever because I loved him so much. Even if he never came round, I thought, I'll stay with him until the end," she told him, now staring into her empty glass.

"But eventually, you began to resent every silence and every empty space," he said, staring into his own.

"And every time he..." she almost said _saved my life_, but stopped herself. "...did a favor for me or gave me a gift, part of me wondered if he was just doing it to fill a space, or if he really felt I was worth it."

Bitterly, Mickey confessed, "I don't have to tell you when I wonder if she's doing it just to fill a space."

This took Martha by surprise, and she backed down a bit. Like Tish, Mickey seemed to be exceptionally good at putting things into perspective. All those times Martha had wished she could be_ with_ him, insisted to herself that if she could make love to him _just once_, it would make her happy, solve all her problems... she was now glad the opportunity had never arisen. She now knew that she'd have spent the whole time wondering what and who was really on his mind.

She now wondered if she actually had it better than Mickey and this girl he couldn't leave.

She looked at the empty glasses on the table and realised that they'd both been drowning their sorrows. This was bad. Bad for the body, bad for the spirit. She decided to slip back into the role of caretaker.

"Don't you need to go back to her now, Mickey?" she asked him.

He looked up, a bit surprised. "Oh, well, actually," he sputtered. "I'm sort of out-of-town at the moment. She's... someplace else."

"Where are you staying?" Martha asked.

Mickey was sure that it was an innocent question, but it still seemed dangerous to him. He mentally chastised himself for even thinking that way, and set himself back in line by improvising, "The Jeffries House, off Baker Street."

"Do you mind if I ring you there?" she wondered.

What the hell was she doing asking a question like that? What, did she only like men who were clearly smitten with someone else? Was she _that much_ a glutton for punishment? But she knew that Tish had been right – she wasn't going to marry the guy, she wasn't looking for long-term, so why not have coffee together sometime? She told herself she deserved a bit of happiness, and so did Mickey. They could be number-one in each others' lives for a bit, if they could only be number-two in other people's. But only for a bit.

He almost told her not to call, but he was weak. He decided he didn't mind so much being weak. "I'd like that," he told her. "I'm in room 18."

Martha stood. "Well then," she near-whispered, holding her hand out to him. "I think we should say good night now."

He stood as well. He shook her hand while searching her eyes, and then said, "Good night, Martha Jones."

She smiled. "Good night, Mickey."

She left the tavern, waving to Tish.


	6. Chapter 6

**DÉJÀ VU**

Mickey left the tavern a bit later with mixed feelings. It had been so long since he'd felt free to have an exchange like that with another girl that he'd forgotten what a rush it is. He'd been such a devoted boyfriend for so long...

He prayed he'd be able to get a room at the Jeffries House (he did, though he did not get room 18), even though he knew that making any plans with Martha would be wrong. He knew because he felt guilty about it. But he was so tired of chasing after Rose... so he made a deal with himself. He could see Martha again for _one hour_. Coffee. That's it. No talk of dancing, alcohol or going to anyone's flat or room. Coffee. The platonic beverage.

So when the call came the following day, why had he been so nervous talking to Martha? They had agreed to meet for _the platonic beverage, _but why had he bought new cologne for himself?

Martha had much the same feelings. Mickey was involved with someone, but she could see that he needed a friend. And that's all she intended to be: a friend. Besides, she knew she absolutely couldn't survive going after _another_ guy who was in love with someone else. That would be the thing that would finally her into a convent if she went down that road again. So, she would settle for being Mickey's coffee partner for the whatever time he was in London.

So when she finally decided to call, why had she picked up the phone three times, only to chicken out? And now that their non-date was nigh, why had she changed her clothes four times and dipped into her "good" makeup stash?

* * *

The coffee house was a zoo. Saturday night madness made coffee-getting difficult, and conversation impossible. Martha and Mickey stood in line without really speaking to each other, and non-verbally agreed to leave the joint with their lattès in-hand. Once outside, they each breathed an exaggerated sigh and began to laugh.

"Did you see that? It was like Bedlam in there!" Mickey exclaimed.

"No, Bedlam is nothing like that," she corrected before she could stop herself. "They've got people in dirty cages and jailers whipping them..."

She looked at Mickey, who was staring at her with amusement. "Spend a lot of time in the middle ages, do you?" he asked.

"Oh," she said, her face turning hot. "Just every now and then when the weather's a bit nasty here."

Luckily, he didn't think she was a complete nitwit, he didn't push further, and the two of them laughed again.

"So, where would you like to go?" he asked.

"I'm happy just wandering," she answered. "We can just have a stroll and a chat."

"Sounds good to me," he agreed.

But they didn't say anything for a long time. They just walked and sipped, occasionally making eye-contact and smiling. Martha wanted to take his arm, but she thought that sort of behaviour would be considered too date-like, so she refrained. A curiosity occurred to her.

"So, you're not new in town," she told him. "I can tell by your accent. But last time, you said that you and your girlfriend live someplace else."

"Oh, erm, yeah," he said, choking a bit. "I grew up here, lived in the Powell Estates for a few years. Now we live in... Banbury."

"Banbury?"

"Yes," he fumbled. "Work brought us there."

"Are you in steel?" she asked.

"Erm, no, I mean... my girlfriend's work. She's in retail. Got a promotion and they moved her up there."

"And of course you followed," Martha said a bit teasingly, bumping her shoulder against his arm.

"Of course," he agreed, feeling a bit fevered. Lying on-the-fly to a complete stranger was one thing, but lying to someone he actually liked felt awful.

"What do you do?" she asked.

"Excuse me?"

"What do you do?" she repeated. "For a living, I mean."

"Me?" he asked, another feverish wave sweeping over him. "Oh, I'm a computer guy."

"Nice," she said. "Always a demand for that. Is that why you're in London?"

"Yeah," he told her. "Some, er, interference in the, er, network system of Longworth's Banks. They're contracted with my company, so they sent me down to trouble-shoot."

"Interference? What, like a virus?"

"Either that or aliens," Mickey answered, immediately wishing he hadn't.

But she thought it was cute, so they both laughed.

"So I know what you do, doctor Jones," he began, wanting to change the subject.

She cut him off. "Tut! _Nearly_ doctor Jones!"

"Sorry," he said. "_Nearly _doctor Jones. Anyway, I know your line of work, or line of occupying your time, anyway. So tell me about this bloke."

She was surprised. "What the one I left eight days ago?"

"Yeah, him," he said. "I mean I know he was smitten with this other bird instead of you, which automatically tells me he's completely barmy, but what else is there about him?"

"What do you want to know?" she asked, uneasy. Suddenly, it occurred to her that she had been a moron to think that she could just go back to being anonymous Martha Jones, medical student and private citizen. She know speculated that it was possible that Mickey in fact knew exactly who she was and all of her associations. He could be a spy from any organisation, an envoy from any planet. He could be an assassin trying to gather information on the Doctor, or even on Martha herself.

Or perhaps not, but suddenly she didn't trust Mickey Smith completely. She made up her mind simply to tread lightly.

"I don't know. Let's start with his name," Mickey suggested.

She looked at him, searching. Then she said, "John."

"Okay, and what does _John _look like?"

She didn't want to give away too much. Many organizations had images of the Doctor on file. If they were looking for confirmation, she was not about to give it to them. She answered subjectively, at the risk of sounding maudlin. "Oh, he's handsome. Brown eyes that seem to search the soul, and a _really_ sexy scowl. And he looks hot in a suit!"

"Really? What does _he _do for a living?"

Reluctantly, she answered, "He's a doctor."

"Of course he is," Mickey commented expressionlessly. He caught himself, and added, "I mean, you spend all your time in a hospital. Of course you'd fall for a doctor. But... does that mean that you have to see him every day?"

"No, no," she assured him. "He isn't a doctor at our hospital. He works someplace else, thank heaven."

"He from around here?" Mickey wanted to know.

"No," she told him. "He's from... far away."

"What, like New Zealand?"

She smiled. "Yeah. Kind of like that."

She was growing weary of this. These questions he was asking were dangerous. The intelligence she was giving him could collapse universes. It was time to find out a bit more about Mickey, if that was his real name.

"But what about your girl? What's she like?" she asked, feigning whimsy.

"Well, she too is rather comely," he answered with a crooked smile. "Sexy full lips. Beautiful eyes, beautiful smile. And blonde."

Now it was Martha's turn to sulk. "Of course she is."

"Sorry?"

"No, no," she covered. "Ignore me. What else?"

"Well, I already said she's in retail," he told her, thinking of what else to say. "She's really interested in history."

"Really? What sorts of history?"

"Oh, like, she's into Charles Dickens' life, Queen Victoria, King Louis XV."

"King Louis XV?" Martha asked.

"Yeah, you know. Madame de Pompadour, Versailles, all that."

"Okay, interesting," Martha commented.

Somewhere nearby, they heard thunder.

"Yeah," Mickey said, almost apologetically. "It's not my bag, but that bloke she was with, remember him? He got her into all that stuff."

They could hear rain now, but it had not yet reached them. They turned a corner, and saw something peculiar. It seemed to be raining _across the street_, as though a barrier had been drawn along the curb, and the weather was not allowed to cross over.

"Hm, that's strange," Martha said.

"Yeah, like there's a glass pane there or something."

"So what's her name?" Martha asked, suddenly forgetting the rain, determined to make Mickey reciprocate with exactly as much information as she had given him.

"Rose."

Martha stopped dead, as did her breathing. It was like someone had hit her hard in the chest with a cricket bat and knocked the wind out of her. It was several seconds before Mickey realised she was no longer beside him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, turning around.

"What did you just say?" she demanded, her eyes darkening.

"You asked me my girlfriend's name, and I told you. It's Rose."

"That's impossible."

Mickey was nonplussed. "What do you mean it's impossible? It's a perfectly fine name. What's so impossible about it?"

This was too much of a coincidence. A handsome, charming man comes into her life asking about the Judoon experience, then claiming to have the exact same story of heartbreak as she had. He relates to her, comforts her, flatters her, takes her out for coffee, then he starts asking about the Doctor... and now the girl who's broken his heart is _Rose_? Oh, what she wouldn't give for a weapon right now.

Martha took three steps backwards and pointed her finger authoritatively at Mickey. Her voice quavered as she began to speak loudly, "Look, I don't know who you are, but just leave me alone!"

"What?"

"Stay away from me! I'm not telling you anything else, do you understand?"

"Yes," Mickey said, puzzled. "Martha, what is wrong with you?"

"No more information until you tell me who you are."

"You know who I am. I'm Mickey Smith."

"No," she insisted. "I want the truth."

He sighed, knowing he'd been caught in a lie.

"All right. My name really is Mickey Smith, and I really am from London. But really, I still live in London and so does Rose. I made up the bit about Banbury. I'm not really a computer trouble-shooter. I made that up too."

Martha crossed her arms. "You're going to stick with that Rose thing, then?"

"What _Rose thing? _Martha, I'm very confused."

They both heard a deafening clap of thunder, and this time the lightning was right over their heads. A storm seemed to be just on top of them.

And then they both looked across the street, and seemed to see it at the same time. It was raining upwards.

"Erm, listen, Martha," Mickey said, suddenly twitchy. "You know where I'm staying, and I'd like to continue this conversation later, but I've suddenly remembered... I've left the iron on. Call me later! Really!"

_Fine, go, Mickey Smith. Go do your worst. I have recourse now, _she thought, patting the brand-new mobile phone in her pocket.

"Whatever," she said to him. "I have to make a phone call anyway."


	7. Chapter 7

**NON TERRA FIRMA**

Martha and Mickey dashed off in opposite directions, and both quickly doubled back toward the rain. They each entered the unassuming-looking bank building from opposite sides just in time to feel the great tremor and see the blinding light. Each of them hung onto a bannister to avoid being jostled to injury. When the movement stopped, the panic ensued. A quick glance about told Martha that in spite of the screaming, no-one was seriously injured and in need of immediate attention, and another quick glance out the window confirmed her suspicion: they weren't on Earth any longer.

Nor were they on the moon, however. Well, this was going to make things slightly more complicated.

She extracted her mobile from her pocket and dialed. She'd known she'd need his help again someday, just not so soon.

He answered with an amused, sing-song "Helloooo?"

"Doctor!" she cried out.

He tuned into her frantic tone straight away. "Martha! Where are you?"

"I have no idea, but I need you!"

"You have no idea? How can you have no idea? Never mind, I'll set the TARDIS down near the hosptial..."

"No, Doctor," she interrupted. "I'm not on Earth."

"You're not on Earth? How can you not be on Earth?"

"It's the Judoon!"

"What?"

"The Judoon! I'm in a bank. There was upwards rain and then the earthquake and the flash... you know how it goes!"

"So you're on the moon."

"It's not the moon."

"Are you sure it's not the moon? Last time it was the moon."

"It's not the bloody moon!" she cried. "Doctor, I know the moon when I see it, and this isn't it!"

"Is it a planet, a space station, an asteroid, what? You've got to help me out here, Martha."

"Well, let's see," she said, calming a bit, comforted to have been given a task. She went to the window and looked out. A gigantic metal arm seemed to be slowly moving above, in a clockwise, propeller-like pattern. On the end of the arm was a large-ish satellite dish. Martha described this to the Doctor.

"Okay, it's a space station of some sort," he said. "The Shadow Proclamation must have put all the Judoon's planetary jurisdiction on suspension so they can't land on _terra firma_ at the moment. What else do you see?"

"Erm, there's a planet nearby. It's brownish."

"What kind of brownish? Brownish-orange or brownish-green?"

"More like brownish-yellow."

"Blimey, that could be any one of about forty planets," he muttered. He seemed to be flipping switches now, and turning dials. "Let's see, how many of those have space stations in orbit?"

Martha was silent while the Doctor made the sounds of metacogitating. "Okay, twenty-two of the brownish-yellow lot currently have space stations in orbit... thirteen are either emitting or receiving a three-hundred-sixty degree satellite frequency. That narrows it down. What else?

"Well, it looks like there's some kind of atmosphere around it, but there are places where it looks unstable... like it's polluted or something."

"Shin-Fang 6," the Doctor said.

"You know where I am?"

"You're in orbit over Shin-Fang 6," he told her. "The planet used to be green, then it was brownish-green, now it's brownish-yellow, and soon it will be just plain brown. Pollution. Plus, it's got these glassy, swirly, jelly, soupy holes in the atmosphere... is that what you're seeing?"

"I suppose so."

"Yes, well, they've got seven space stations in orbit, but I'll check each one until I find a London bank building with you inside."

"Thanks, Doctor. I'll stay in the lobby until I see you. I'll be in the corner near the teller windows."

* * *

On the other side of the lobby, Mickey knew he couldn't just sit and wait for the Judoon to arrive – he had to be on-alert. He couldn't believe how lucky he'd gotten in just happening by as the rain began to rise, the very thing he was attempting to research in this dimension. He'd figured he'd have to find some underground cell of alien-fighters in order to gather any info.

Never mind. This was a lot faster. It would get him back home more quickly, and that's what mattered. He regretted having to walk away from Martha while she was so inexplicably and suddenly upset, but as he'd reminded himself over and over and over since he'd met her, he _had _a girlfriend whom he loved. Sure, she was distracted and absent and quick-to-tears most of the time, but he loved her, and couldn't wait to see her again.

He attempted to cross the room, and wondered if the lift was still in operation. From what he'd heard of the hospital, when it landed on the moon, some of its electrical functions failed. But he needn't have worried. He saw several men and women come out of the lift in the lobby looking frightened and relieved, but the apparatus itself seemed to be in operation. He set his gaze upon it.

"Oi, mate, can you give us a hand?" a voice asked.

Mickey looked down and saw a very large man lying on the floor, and a smaller man trying to help him. The larger man was unconscious and bleeding from a shallow gash on his forehead.

"I think if I can get him into a sitting position, he won't bleed so much," the smaller man told Mickey worriedly.

"Sure," Mickey said, bending down to help. The two of them were able to get the large man upright. Mickey reached into his pocket and took out his weapon. It was wrapped in a long piece of thick gauze, the better for wiping fingerprints. Mickey gave the man the piece of gauze and suggested he wrap it around the larger man's head. The smaller man focused on the weapon, but then quickly came back to himself, and thanked Mickey.

Mickey again fixed his gaze on the lift, and began to move once more. Nearby, however, a female security guard seemed to be pinned beneath a large piece of marble that had previously enclosed her desk. The desk had collapsed into a heap of cheap particle board, but the marble slab was cutting off her air. Mickey shoved his weapon back into his pocket, and recruited three of the younger-looking blokes standing about to help budge the thing, and the woman crawled out, holding her ribs.

"She might have a broken rib," Mickey told one of the men. "Keep her still until help arrives. See if there's a..." he sighed. "See if there's a doctor in the house." Two of the men helped her lie down on the floor while the other ran off into the crowd, presumably to find someone who knew anything about broken ribs.

Finally, Mickey found himself at the lift. To his surprise and relief, when he pressed the button, he heard a _ping_, and then the doors opened. He got inside, and pressed the number 15. That was the top floor, surely the roof could be reached from there, and then perhaps he could study the outside of the building unnoticed. If there were any traces of plasma or electromagnetic energy, this special firearm that he carried would detect it.

As he exited on the top floor, he cautiously stepped into the hallway, and to his right were at least three members of the Judoon squad, moving the other way. Great big humanoid-rhinos, marching with ridiculously synchronised precision, just like Cybermen. From what he'd heard, though, they were thicker than Cybermen, though marginally less dangerous.

And idea occurred to him.

He went down the hall in the direction where the rhinos had gone, and peered around the corner. He saw them disappear into a stairwell. He ran back to the lift and pressed the button labeled 14. He arrived on the 14th floor at the same time as the loud soldiers, and concealed himself inside a broom closet, just in time not to be seen.

As the Judoon squad trundled past, he held his weapon at the ready. He noticed the censors going haywire both for plasma traces, and for electromagnetic energy. He'd remember to ask about that. And he'd remember to be clever and take notes. He'd remember the sneaky little interrogation methods he'd been taught at Torchwood. He'd remember to keep his cool and not to betray anything about himself, his background or his organisation.

But for now, it was to be swift and blinding violence. Tally-ho.


	8. Chapter 8

**UP**

As Martha waited, she wandered about, taking in the chaos. People crying, people cursing, trying (and failing) to use their mobile phones, people bleeding here and there, some moans of pain, plenty of cries of fear. The windows were plastered with people looking out, and the stairwells were trickling with people coming down, disappointed to find they could not escape this way.

She offered to help some, claiming that she was a doctor (she figured this one little white lie wouldn't hurt – after all, she was only six months from finishing). Some allowed her to help, others claimed they didn't need her. She knew she'd promised that she'd stay near the teller windows, but she couldn't just wait when there was chaos to calm.

As she was examining the pupils of a young woman who appeared to be in shock, a man ran up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Are you a doctor?" he asked, frantically.

"Erm, yes, but I need to see to this young lady here first, all right?"

The man obviously was exerting himself in trying to remain calm while Martha informed the young woman's friend that she was not in shock, but may have concussion, and she should remain upright and awake at all costs.

"Do not let her fall asleep, okay? Ask her every few minutes if she remembers who she is, who's the Prime Minister, her mother's maiden name, stuff like that," Martha counseled. "If she can't remember, I'll be around, all right?"

"All right," the friend said. "Thank you."

She turned to the nervous man. "Now what do you need, sir?"

"Possible broken rib," he said, returning to his former frantic state. "Large slab of marble fell on her, and she's having trouble breathing and she might have a broken rib, and the man said to find a doctor because the rest of us don't know what to do."

"Okay, okay," she told him, following him. "Just breathe."

She saw the young security guard lying on the floor, with her head in the lap of another young man. "Hi, I'm Martha," she said to her.

"Are you a doctor?" asked the second young man.

"Yes," she said. Then she addressed the girl again. "What's your name, love?"

"Wendy," she anwered, breathless.

"Trouble breathing, Wendy?"

The girl nodded.

"Does it hurt when you speak?"

The girl nodded again.

"Where is the pain, exactly? Can you show me?"

The girl indicated a point on the side of her tummy, just below her right breast.

"I'm going to find out if you have a broken rib, all right? It might hurt, but it's necessary. Are you ready?"

The girl nodded, and tears came to her eyes. Martha wondered if she'd ever get used to that.

Martha pushed on the point where the girl was experiencing pain. Wendy winced and let out a short, shallow scream.

"All right, Wendy," Martha said smiling. "You did great. Your rib isn't broken, but I think it's slightly fractured. As long as you don't move, it won't need to be set. Under normal circumstances I'd prescribe some pain killers and a few days' bed rest, but... can you stay still here until help arrives?"

Wendy nodded, the tears now falling sideways down her face.

Martha now addressed the men. "Bring her water, keep her head elevated, do not let her move." The three young men nodded.

"Do you have any questions?" she asked them.

"Yes. If a blue Police Box materialises in a bank vault, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a noise?"

Obviously, none of the men in front of her had said this, so she turned around. A pensive Doctor stood behind her, looking about at the insanity. She hopped up on her tiptoes and hugged him with a huge sigh of relief.

"Doctor," she sighed. "Thank you for coming." As his arms enfolded her, her whole body seemed to unclench. As possibly the only person in the lobby with medical knowledge, she felt a huge responsibility to make everything okay. And now, like a child, she put all of her fears on him, and relaxed.

"No problem," he said softly.

When they let go of one another, fifteen seconds later, she asked, "Any trouble finding the place?"

"Well, the directions you gave left a lot to the imagination," he told her, shoving his hands in his pockets. "But I only had to check four space stations before I found the building. And the traffic was light, so..."

"So, what do we do?"

"First, I have to work out where the hell the Judoon are going to land," he answered, beginning to walk briskly toward a window.

She tried to keep up. "Doctor, wait, there's something I have to tell you."

He reached a window, and unceremoniously moved a crying woman out of the way. He put her into the arms of a man standing nearby, and said, "Look after her, will you?" He turned back to the window and looked down.

He saw nothing but open space. Martha looked as well, and saw the same.

He raced over to another window, and this time, a teen-aged boy made way for him. He saw the same thing as he looked down. Nothing. Space. Ether.

"This will be different from last time," the Doctor said.

"Yes, I can see that," Martha told him brusquely. "Doctor, I need to tell you something."

"Not just because of the locale, not just because they can't land anywhere, but because their planetary jurisdiction rights have been revoked for five thousand days. That means that they're working slightly below the radar, which means that someone mighty slippery probably hired them, which means..."

"Doctor, are you listening to me?"

"Sorry. What were you saying?"

"I have to tell you about this man."

"What man?"

"I met a man yesterday and we went out on a date tonight," she told him, rather sheepishly.

"I hope you're not just trying to update me on your life," he said.

"No, no," she said, blushing. She realised that this was the first time they'd had to work together since the revelation came to light that she loved him. "He asked about you."

"He asked about _me _?" the Doctor spat. "Oh, for the love of... what did he ask?"

"Well, it wasn't direct," she told him. "It was kind of insidious, really. First he turned up in the hospital with stomach cramps, and then he started asking about the hospital, when it went to the moon."

"Whoa, now _that _is interesting," the Doctor said, eyes wide as saucers.

"I know! So then, I see him again in this pub, and my daft sister Tish sets it up so that he comes over and sits with me. And it was weird, because he had the same..."

She stopped herself. How could she explain to him that Mickey had the same story of heartbreak that she did?

"The same what?" he asked.

"Let's just say we had a lot in common," she told him, carefully. "Then tonight, I asked him about his job and his girlfriend..."

"His girlfriend? You went out with a man who has a girlfriend?"

"Can I finish my story please? Anyway, I asked about his job, and..." Suddenly she realised there was no way to tell this story gracefully. "I had already told him that there was this... guy who broke my heart," she confessed softly.

He was frowning now, but still with her. "Yes?"

"And he started asking lots and lots of questions. I answered as vaguely as I could without alerting him that I was onto him, but then..."

"What?"

"I sort of went a little insane," she said.

"Why?"

"Well, he told me his girlfriend's name, and I didn't handle it very well."

"Why, what was it?"

She sighed. "Rose. His girlfriend's name was Rose." To her surprise, the Doctor did not react. "And the coincidence was just too much for me so I shouted at him, told him to stay away, and that's when we noticed the upwards rain."

"And he took off when he saw that, didn't he?" asked the Doctor.

"Yes. He's probably in here somewhere."

"I'd imagine so. Did you find out his name, Martha?"

"The name he gave me was..."

Just then a crash came from above. Screaming people began filing out of the lifts and stairwells, yelling about alien rhinos, blaster guns and execution.

Martha and the Doctor looked at each other. "The roof!" he said.

Hand in hand, they began to run.

* * *

On the fourteenth floor, Mickey paced. He was in a small office with no windows, standing under some very harsh fluorescent lights, inappropriately wondering how anyone human could be expected to work in this place. He oscillated between wonder, pride, nervousness and impatience.

Because, on the floor, a great big, ugly, humanoid rhino lay listless. Mickey had caught up with the Judoon squad and managed to pick off the soldier at the back. Luckily, the squad's noisy marching had covered the sound of the metal coatrack coming into contact with the giant rhino head, and that of Mickey dragging the big oaf into the nearest office.

"Come on, you big blob, wakey wakey," Mickey muttered as he paced. He knew this was the most direct course of action (if not the wisest), but he wasn't happy about wasting this time.

Finally, after what had felt like an eternity, the thing groaned.

"Right then," Mickey yelled, coming around to face the creature, weapon drawn. "Time to face the music."

The Judoon soldier sat up. "I hear no music," it announced in a deep, gravelly monotone.

"No mate," Mickey told it. "I'm the music man. Who are you?"

"We are the Forty-third squadron of the Judoon fleet."

"What are you doing here?"

"You have struck and imprisoned me," it told Mickey. "I witnessed the crime. The sentence is execution." It reached for its gun holster, but Mickey had been one step ahead.

Mickey reached behind and pulled the Judoon's weapon out of his belt, and asked, "Looking for this?"

"You have committed theft of an official Judoon-issue weapon. The sentence execution," it said.

"Yeah, yeah, tell me a new one," Mickey said, putting his own weapon back into his coat pocket. He trained the Judoon's own weapon on his hostage. He rather liked the idea of this creature being threatened with its own gun. "Now, tell me why you're here, or I'll sentence _you_ to execution."

"Revealing intelligences is strictly forbidden by the Judoon High Code of Deportment."

"What sort of device is it that brought the bank to... wherever it is that we are?"

"We are on space station number 4-AH2 in orbit of the planet Shin-Fang 6 in the galaxy of Crawlawn. Revealing any further intelligences is strictly forbidden by the Judoon High Code of Deportment."

"What's the rain got to do with teleportation?"

"Revealing any intelligences is strictly forbidden by the Judoon High Code of Deportment."

"I'll give you to the count of three, mate."

"Revealing any intelligences is strictly forbidden by the Judoon High Code of Deportment."

"Fat lot of good you are," Mickey muttered, sitting down on a credenza but never lowering the weapon. "It's like trying to get information out of a broken record."

"Negative. I am a member of the Forty-third squadron..."

"Yeah, I got that, thanks. Listen, who is your leader?"

"The Judoon known as Sorecon governs our squadron."

"Did he come on this mission with you?"

"Affirmative."

"Take me to him."


	9. Chapter 9

**GAMBLING**

Martha and the Doctor burst through the door at the bottom of the stairs just as they had a million times during their year together. With the clearer vision of a bit of hindsight, Martha wondered how many miles she'd run with the Doctor, for the Doctor, after the Doctor, and everything in-between (and that wasn't even counting walking across the world during the year that never was). She wondered how many side-aches and scrapes and aches and pains she had procured in the process. She knew she'd do it all again in a heartbeat, but she also reminded herself of the _figurative_ running after him that she did during that time as well. That was the part that _really_ hurt.

They began running up the stairs toward the roof. Various people were heading down and advising the two of them not to go any further, since all of the danger seemed to be on the upper floors. Of course they ignored everyone's advice as always and kept climbing.

"Do you have a plan?" she asked.

"Not really," he answered.

"Then what the hell are we running towards?"

"I don't know!" he answered, and then let out a loud cackle that utterly delighted Martha, in spite of herself. That was enough for her. She followed him with no more questions.

After about seven flights of stairs, suddenly, he stopped, squeezing her hand a bit. He used his other hand to motion for her silence.

Martha waited, but all she could hear was the sound of people still coming down the stairs, and various voices. The Doctor had apparently zeroed in on something. And then she heard it too. Out of the din, the voices of Judoon.

"Governor Sorecon," the gravelly voice said. "There is another platoon on its way."

"Excellent," another voice responded. "Meet them on the roof. They will need to be informed of procedure."

"Yes, sir," the first voice said. "Shall I set them to work right away planting the explosives, or shall I instruct them to secure the ground floor?"

"Why does the ground floor need securing?"

"The ground floor is rife with humans. Most have migrated there. When the humans find that they are sentenced to execution, there will be chaos. There will be a need for securing."

"Yes, of course," the Judoon known as Sorecon said. "Have them set about securing the ground floor."

"Very well," the second Judoon said, and then they spoke no more.

Martha and the Doctor looked at each other gravely, meaningfully. This time, the building they were in was sentenced to execution outright, rather than simply one humanoid in the vicinity being sought. They listened and could clearly hear the Judoon coming down.

"Come on," the Doctor whispered, pulling Martha further up the stairs by the hand.

They climbed, and approximately two flights later, they came face-to-face with the Judoon. Martha's heart leapt into her mouth at the sight.

"You are ascending," the Judoon at the front of the line announced.

"So it would seem," the Doctor said with a whimsical tone. "I was told the escape pods were up this way, isn't that what you heard?"

The Judoon did not know how to respond. Instead, he repeated, "You are ascending. The other humans are descending. State your purpose."

"I told you, escape pods."

The Judoon actually looked at one another, and Martha seemed to notice a quizzical expression in the midst of all the bulbous scaliness.

"Escape pods?" one of them finally asked.

"Yeah, right up there on the top floor, we were told, weren't we, darling?" he asked Martha.

"Yep, top floor. In the loo," she riffed.

"That's right, the loo."

Again, the Judoon looked at each other. Then the leading Judoon said, "Come with me."

One soldier took Martha and the Doctor each by the arm. She whispered, "Oh fantastic, now you've gotten us captured."

"Yep," he said, popping the letter p. "Brilliant, aren't I?"

"What?"

"Silence, please," the Judoon insisted.

"Well, at least they say please," the Doctor noticed.

They were taken to the next floor up and told to stand against the wall. They faced a sea of cubicles, some of which still contained their occupants, most of which did not. The humans who were still present made sudden and high-pitched sounds of surprise and fear, and then retreated into the farthest corner. Martha and the Doctor noticed them, but just barely. Four Judoon now surrounded them. Their guns were not drawn, but the Judoon did not need to be armed in order to be threatening.

"Who spoke to you of these escape pods?" Sorecon asked.

"Ermmm," the Doctor pretended to think. "It was a bloke, I know that much. What was his name, dear?"

Martha did not particularly enjoy this game, but she played anyhow. "Oh, I think it was Frank."

"That's right, that's right," the Doctor said with a smile. "A bloke named Frank." He said this with finality, smiling widely as though this would clear up all misunderstanding.

"Who is this Frank?" asked Sorecon.

"Oh, just a gent that we met, where was it, love?"

Martha gave the Doctor a very dirty look, and then said, "I think it was in Brighton," she told Sorecon. "We met him in Brighton."

"That's it," the Doctor said, with the same manic smile. "He was wearing a rain hat and it was beautiful out. I couldn't imagine what he must have been thinking..."

"Silence!" demanded the Judoon leader. The Doctor and his companion obeyed. "Go to the top floor and check the waste disposal facilities," he said to one of his underlings, who obeyed without question. Then he ordered the other two to check each of the 'waste disposal facilities' in the building. The Doctor seemed delighted, and Martha could see that this was a diversionary tactic.

A scratching noise seem to emit from Sorecon's belt. "Sorecon. Request communication," a voice said through the grating sound.

Sorecon took the communication device from his belt and spoke into it. "Request accepted."

"Request that you state your position."

"Floor ten."

"Received."

Martha thought very little of this exchange, but rather, wondered what the Doctor would do next, now that he'd bought them some time by sending them on a goose chase for escape pods.

"Tell me," the Doctor said. "Don't you recognise me?"

"The Judoon have a very limited database of humans," Sorecon explained. "We do not believe that humans pose a threat, therefore, we do not catalogue them except on certain occasions."

"Oh, but I'm not human. Look closely."

The Judoon extracted a device from his belt that looked very familiar to Martha. It emitted a blue light and a high-frequency pulse. She had seen it before when the Judoon had transported the hospital. It was a device for recognising species. The giant rhino pressed it to the Doctor's forehead.

"Registering as non-human," the Judoon said. He shook his device rather comically, and then tried again. Martha had to stifle a giggle. After the second try, the Judoon announced, "Time Lord. This is impossible."

"No, just a bit _improbable_," the Doctor corrected. "Hello."

"You are the Doctor," Sorecon realised, rather neutrally.

"That's right," the Time Lord answered. "Now, would you mind telling me why you've sentenced an entire Earth bank, of all things, to death?"

"This is not a bank," the Judoon explained. "It is a front for an intergalactic gambling operation."

"Really?" the Doctor asked. Martha could tell that this genuinely was news to him. "And everyone in the bank is involved?"

"Unknown."

"You were just hired to execute the entire building and everyone in it."

"Correct."

"Who hired you?"

"The highest order of the planet Shin-Fang 6."

"That's the planet below, right?" asked Martha.

"Correct."

"Why would they do that?" asked the Doctor.

"Unknown. We do not concern ourselves with the reason, only the mission," Sorecon answered, turning away.

"I suppose you intend to plant your bombs and detonate them remotely from your ship on the roof after you've left the vicinity," the Doctor said, sniffing matter-of-factly.

There was a long pause. The Judoon admonished him, "You pose an excess of questions. You will be silent now."

"Well, now, that's a big _yes_," the Doctor muttered to Martha.

And then, the excitement was interrupted. A louder-than-usual _ping_ sounded from the nearby lift. When the doors opened, another Judoon stepped out. "This is floor ten," he said.

Martha and the Doctor could see that he was being threatened with a Judoon-issued weapon.

And out from behind the oversized creature, weapon in-hand, came Mickey Smith.


	10. Chapter 10

**YOU KNOW HIM?**

Astonished expressions came over the faces of Mickey, Martha and the Doctor, and the latter opened his mouth to speak, but Mickey managed to shush him. Reluctantly, the Time Lord, whose hearts were now palpatating, closed his mouth and waited to see what Mickey would do.

"This is Sorecon. He is our leader," the newly-arrived Judoon said to Mickey.

"Thanks, mate. Now wasn't that nicer than getting vaporised?"

The Judoon grunted, and took his place beside his leader. "Forgive me, sir," he said. "This human incapacitated me."

"State your business," Sorecon demanded of Mickey.

"State yours," Mickey shot back, aiming the Judoon weapon at Secoron.

The Doctor decided to chime in. "Erm, I might be able to help with that part. No reason to trouble these folks." He looked pointedly at Mickey, both eyebrows raised. "They are, you know... armed and dangerous."

Mickey lowered his gun and shoved it into his waistband at the small of his back, scowling sideways at the Doctor. But when he spoke, it was to Sorecon. "What are you doing with _them_?"

Again, the Doctor answered the question posed to the Judoon. "Oh, we were just rattling off about the escape pods in the loo," he said. "The underlings went to have a look."

"The escape pods in the loo?" Mickey asked, finally addressing the Doctor directly. "Are you insane?"

"Have you met me?" the Doctor said with a wink.

"Silence!" the Judoon leader demanded once more. "Cease all social engaging until the situation is secure." He unholstered his weapon and aimed it at Mickey. "You will join the two hostages against the wall."

The two present Judoon occupied themselves in some low-tone conversation that the others could not hear. Mickey took the opportunity to mutter, "On my own for forty-eight hours and I manage not to become a hostage. Twenty seconds with you, and here I am with my back to the wall."

"Welcome home," the Doctor muttered back.

When the three absent Judoon returned, they had nothing to report. The toilet cubicles were equipped only with toilets and there were no escape pods to be found in this Earth building.

"You have attempted to deceive the Judoon," Sorecon stated. "The sentence is execution."

"Sorecon, sir. We are soon to execute the entire building, and these humans have no means of escape. I deem it wise to save our resources by not executing these humans now," said one of the underlings.

"Correction," Sorecon said back, indicating the Doctor. "This specimen is non-human. He is the Doctor. He is a liability and must be vaporised."

"I point out once more that there is no means of escape."

There was a few seconds of silence, and then Sorecon relented. "Very well. Release the hostages."

As the Judoon disappeared into the lift, and the cowering people in the corner breathed a sigh of amazed relief, the Doctor grabbed his two companions and pushed them round the corner. The three of them found themselves in an office kitchenette. The Doctor sonicked the door locked.

"Mickey, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Wait," Martha said, crossing her arms. "You know each other?"

"You know him?" Mickey asked her.

"You know _him_?" the Doctor asked her, his voice having risen an octave above where it normally sat.

Martha told the Doctor, a bit anxiously, "He's the guy I told you about, who kept asking about you."

"I wasn't askin' about the Doctor, I was asking about the guy that broke your heart," Mickey insisted. "The one who was in love with that other... girl..." the implications of what he was saying dawned on him slowly. His arms dropped to his sides and his face fell. "Oh my God."

Martha's jaw dropped as she rewound through the evening's revelations. This was Rose's boyfriend. "Oh _my _God!"

Martha and Mickey stared at each other in disbelief. The Doctor, also with jaw agape and brow furrowed, looked quickly from one to the other in an uncharacteristic confusion. "Wha.. wha..." he said over and over.

The indomitable Miss Jones was the first to speak. She turned to the Doctor and gestured exasperatedly at Mickey. "As I told you: checked into hospital with stomach cramps, asked a lot of questions about the Judoon incident. We met at a pub, exchanged sob stories about how people we love are totally preoccupied with other people, then we went out on a date and he started asking questions about you. Only, apparently they weren't about you, because judging by the look on his face, he didn't have a bloody clue."

Defensively, Mickey straightened and insisted, "It wasn't a date."

"Whatever mate," Martha said. "You gonna to tell your girlfriend about it?"

Glaring at the Doctor, he said, "No, not unless she finds out some other way."

Martha made a bit of a shrug that seemed to say, _I rest my case._

"Mickey, shame on you!" the Doctor admonished. "Hopping universes and playing around while you do it. You're lucky she's on the other side of the void. I'd have half a mind to tell on you."

Gesturing now at Martha, Mickey shot back, "Oh you're one to talk! How long did it take you to pick up another hot little companion? A day? A week?"

"That's none of your business!" the Doctor insisted.

"Boys!" Martha yelled. "We have bigger problems right now. You can pull them out and measure them later, all right?"

At this, the two men looked at each other sheepishly, and then the Doctor asked, calmly, "What are you doing here, Mickey?"

"Torchwood sent me to find out about the technology that allows the Judoon to do... this."

"Oh I can tell you that much. It's an H2O scoop. Plasma coils and electromagnetic energy conducted by the water... I'll tell you all about it later if you want.... wait, Torchwood?"

"You work with Captain Jack?" Martha asked.

"Captain Jack? No, why?" Mickey asked, confused.

"Torchwood is his organisation."

"Yes," the Doctor said. "After... well, you know, the incident at Canary Wharf, apparently Captain Jack started a new organisation with only half-a-dozen or so in the mix, went underground quite literally, and called it Torchwood."

"Not in my world," Mickey said. "We rebuilt it like a sort of corporation, like it used to be. Pete and Rose were hoping to be rid of the corruption that ruined it in both worlds, but you know how a large organisation can be. Politics, secrets..."

Something in his tone put the Doctor on alert. "Secrets?"

"Yeah," Mickey said, leaning against the counter, not wanting to look at either of them. "They built this machine that could rip through the void, even when the dimensional walls are closed, and didn't tell anyone they were doing it. Rose and Pete are at the top of the company, and the technology department didn't even tell _them_ because they were afraid it would cause..."

"Cause what?"

"That it would cause Rose's priorities to shift," Mickey confessed. "So they sent _me_ here without telling her. But this is my last mission for Torchwood – they can take this job and shove it far as I'm concerned. I just have to get the info they want."

"I'll give you that," the Doctor told him, patting him on the shoulder. "But you have to tell Rose about all of this."

"I will," Mickey said. "That was part of the deal. I said I'd do this for them as my last mission, but they had to fully disclose everything to her after my return."

"And then what happens for you?" Martha asked, stealing a glance at the Doctor. "You know Rose will want to come back."

"I don't know. Move to Australia, maybe. Or the States. Haven't decided yet."

"Could you really do that?" Martha wanted to know. She had the feeling at this point that there was something inherently un-leavable about Rose.

Mickey sighed. "It would be hard, but what am I gonna do? Travel _with_ them? No thanks, not again."

Martha giggled, "Well maybe we could _all_ go, and make it horribly awkward all the way 'round."

Mickey giggled back, but the Doctor did not. "Er, children? Building sentenced to death? Bombs, giant rhinos, have you forgotten?"

"Okay," Martha said, coming back to herself. "What's the plan?"

"I think if I can get to the roof, we can sneak inside their ship and find the detonation device and disarm the explosives," he said. "But the problem is going to be getting past the sentries up there."

"What sentries?" asked Mickey.

"The ones they have undoubtedly posted at the top of the stairs to the roof," the Doctor sighed. "Keep up, will you?"

"No problem there. I've still got this," he announced, proudly displaying the Judoon weapon.

"Good," the Doctor said. "But only shoot if you have to. Come on."

The three of them went to the stairwell and began to climb again. The trickle of people coming down was much thinner than before. Martha figured the lobby must be a chaotic mess, even more so than before, by now.

When they reached the fifteenth floor, they were obliged to leave the stairwell. They crossed the office space and found a door labeled "roof access." The Doctor put his hand on the knob and turned to Mickey and Martha and gestured for quiet. They both set their faces in silent resolve and the Doctor opened the door. They tiptoed up one more flight and saw the door labeled "roof." Once again, the Doctor prepared to open the door and gestured for quiet. Mickey readied his weapon.

When the Doctor pulled the door open, the three of them were surprised by an unconscious Judoon who fell into their path and hit the metal floor with a loud thud. They looked at each other with wonder.

"Who did _that_?" Martha whispered.

But when the culprit came into view, their surprise and wonder turned to outright shock.


	11. Chapter 11

**THIRD AND FOURTH WHEELS**

The slim, lovely, blonde, earnest-looking woman had a giant blaster gun aimed into the stairwell, and she stared at two shocked humans and one completely nonplussed Time Lord. She lowered her weapon. "Well, I can see I was right," she said to Mickey. "They did have you researching the H2O scoop. Bloody brilliant."

She gestured for them to come to her side of the door, and they obeyed. She kicked the unconscious Judoon back on the stairway side, and slammed the door. The Doctor sonicked the door locked, and all four parties looked from one to another with varying degrees of shock and bemusement.

Rose shoved Mickey sideways. "Why didn't you tell me what they were doing?" she screeched. "They could have killed you! The risk of molecule dispersal..."

"I know, I know," Mickey said, taking her by the shoulders. "Calm down. I didn't know until they called the other night, I swear."

"Wait a minute," the Doctor said to Rose. "How did _you _get here? I thought Mickey said they weren't going to tell you until he got back!"

In lieu of answering, she turned and faced him fully and they made true eye contact for the first time. She smiled slightly. "Hello, Doctor."

He smiled sideways, and said, "Hello, Rose."

Any idiot could see that they were holding back, that they would have liked to make the space station move with their reunion. Martha and Mickey made eye contact across the veritable continent of memories, angst, anticipation and whatever else was flying about in the air between Rose and the Doctor. The look they exchanged was one of kindred understanding – when they'd met yesterday, they'd only _thought_ they had a lot in common. This moment made worlds collide, and made yesterday feel like a drunken farce.

After about thirty seconds, Rose finally spoke. "I got here the same way Mickey did," she told the Doctor. "He'd been missing for two days, so I went to my dad to ask about him, and _he _didn't know, so we went to that wanker Randall. He was all shifty so my dad threatened to tell the council about his tax evasion."

Mickey laughed, "Oooh-hoo, I bet that worked like a charm!"

"Well, here I am," she said, high-fiving with Mickey.

"But you shouldn't have come, babe," Mickey told her. "It's dangerous."

"Please. I wasn't about to let you do this on your own," she insisted.

"Are you sure it had nothing to do with..."

"It had nothing to do with anything except helping you get back home safely," she said slowly and carefully, eyes ablaze.

Mickey stared at his shoes for a few minutes, then said, "Thank you. I'm glad you're here." He took her hand and squeezed it.

Rose turned and faced Martha. "Hello," she said with a friendly, searching smile.

"Hello," Martha said, extending her hand, returning the smile. "I'm Martha Jones. You must be the acclaimed Rose Tyler."

"Erm, well, I'm Rose Tyler," she said, shaking Martha's hand.

"Your reputation precedes you," Martha said, subtly indicating the two men. "Nice to meet you finally." She was pretty sure she meant it. The curiosity had been killing her, especially now with the whole Mickey debacle.

"Likewise," Rose said with a smile. "I'm sorry, I'm a bit in the dark here..."

"I'm a friend of the Doctor's," Martha told her quickly. She was a bit ashamed of the swell of satisfaction she felt at the glimmer of jealousy she saw cross Rose's eyes. She squelched that satisfaction as quickly as it had come on. She wasn't going to be _that _girl. Martha Jones was not a small person.

"Oh," Rose said rather tightly. "Do you travel together?"

Martha looked at the Doctor, who sighed and then broke eye contact with everyone. Martha said, truthfully, "No, we don't. This is just a coincidence." She could tell that Rose didn't quite believe her, but she wasn't about to back-pedal now, and she wasn't going to boast about her year traveling in the TARDIS. She knew all too well how much that could sting for Rose.

"We did travel together," the Doctor said for Mickey and Rose's benefits. "We've known each other two years. Martha left me just about a week ago."

"Two years?" Rose asked. "How could that be?"

"It's sort of a long story, but one of those years was erased," the Doctor explained. "But I feel the effects of it every day of my life. So do we all." He looked at Martha in a way he never had before. Martha was a bit befuddled by it, but she said nothing to him.

Instead, she addressed Rose. "How long were the two of you together? You know, Rose Tyler is such a touchy subject, I never could get a straight answer out of him."

Rose smiled. It was a smile that carried a grief that Martha had seen in the Doctor's eyes million times. "We traveled for two years," she answered. "But he was a different man when we began."

"Almost literally," the Doctor said.

And that's when the pounding began. The Judoon were on the other side of the door, presumably now fully awake and raging, and these four heroes had been wasting time with introductions and memories.

"Come on!" the Doctor shouted and began racing toward the Judoon ship. Now three companions followed. They were almost to the foot of the ship when the Judoon burst through the door behind them. Once inside, once again, the Doctor sonicked the electronic door locked, and Mickey tore open a wall panel and changed the entry combination.

"Now they have to type in my birthday to get us!" he cried in delight as they all took once again to the stairs. Even the Doctor laughed at that, the image of a bunch of Judoon standing about, trying different combinations, attempting to remember Mickey Smith's birthday.

Another din of noisy metallic banging followed as four people ran upwards in the spacecraft. When they found a landing, the Doctor announced, "Our first priority is de-activating the explosives, next is getting these people back to Earth so that we don't have a repeat performance of the great running-out-of-oxygen-and-passing-out caper from last time."

"I'll try and find the controls for the... what did you call it?" Mickey asked the Doctor.

"The H2O scoop? Good idea. The coordinates for the building size and locale on Earth are probably still set. There will be some type of volume-setting for the water, also probably still set, even though they probably had no intention of sending the building back. All you have to do is reverse the process," he explained. "But make sure you don't do that until the explosives have been de-activated. We can't risk having this building explode in the middle of London."

"I'll try to find some kind of com device so the Doctor can let you know when it's done," Rose told Mickey.

"Good, I get to deal with the H2O scoop. It'll give me something to report to that wanker Randall," Mickey said, beginning to dash off.

"I'll come with you," Martha said, trailing along behind him. The two of them disappeared down a corridor, leaving the Doctor and Rose alone on the landing.

"I'm starting to think _that wanker Randall_ is someone's full name," the Doctor said to her.

"No. He's just a wanker and everyone knows it," Rose shrugged. "A total nudge."

The Doctor chuckled, and then looked up. He could see all the way to the top of the spaceship, and toward the very top, there seemed to be a doorway, glowing green.

"See that green? I think that's the main control room. I believe we'll find our explosives de-activator there," the Doctor whispered. "Fancy a climb?"

She sighed. "Well, twist my arm." Then she smiled, as did he.

Rose's thighs and knees and lungs did not begin to scream until they were almost there. "Did you lot climb all fifteen floors too?" she asked. She was beginning to trail behind him a bit further.

"Yep," he told her, climbing relentelessly.

"I arrived in the lobby just as the teleportation happened. I think I saw Martha in the lobby on her mobile phone. I wondered who she thought she could reach from up here. I guess that would be you, eh?"

"Yep," he said again.

"Blimey! My legs hurt. You must be in pain too. How are you still pushing that hard?"

He turned and faced her. "I go on, Rose. For my own good. For the good of everyone else, I'm in pain, but I go on. That's the way it has to be." And then he continued.

She stood stunned for a moment and watched him climb without hesitation, without showing any signs of fatigue. Bells sounded in Rose's head, and she wondered if she'd have the courage to breach the subject with him. This melodrama was becoming too much... his response to the "pain" question, Martha's words upon meeting her, and the look in her eyes, Mickey's insecurities. She and the Doctor needed have a serious talk.

* * *

In another part of the ship, Mickey and Martha skulked about, trying to find an important-looking room that might contain an H2O scoop activator.

"Do you know what this thing's supposed to look like?" she asked him, peering into some small square windows.

"Me? I thought you were the H2O scoop expert," he said, carefully looking around the corner to scout out any potential Judoon threat.

"Just because this is my second go doesn't make me an expert, Mickey," she insisted, hands on her hips, face set in a determined, exasperated expression.

He smiled. "Relax, I'm just joking," he said. "I'm glad you came with me though."

She hesitated before asking, "Why is that?"

"Because it gives me the chance to tell you," he said, turning to face her. "That I didn't know."

"You didn't know?"

"No, I didn't know. I had no idea who you were when I started asking all those questions. I didn't know you knew the Doctor, and I certainly didn't understand that he was the one who broke your heart by being all preoccupied with... Rose, I assume. I didn't mean to frighten you. I just wanted to spend more time with you," he told her, becoming more and more quiet and sheepish as he spoke.

"Spend time with me, but then go back to Rose when you were done with me?" she asked. "Typical. I can't believe I went for _another_ Rose Tyler groupie. You know, maybe you've got it right when you say you're moving to a different continent. I might follow suit. Just let me know where you go, so I don't wind up there too."

"I know, Martha, I know how it looks," he said, now lowering his weapon and leaning against the wall. "I didn't mean to make you feel used. It's just... _finally_ I'd met someone who seemed to understand. Finally, there was someone I could talk to about how distant Rose is most of the time, and not have them tell me to bring her flowers more often, or go into couple's counselling. The fact was that there was no cure for what ailed Rose, except in that stupid blue box, and you seemed to _get _that. Trouble was, I didn't understand how _much_ you got it."

She sighed and leaned against the wall next to him. "I guess I was being unfair," she conceded. "I mean, I knew full well that you were involved with someone, but I wanted to spend more time with you, too. For the same reasons you just said. And by the way, you smell really nice."

"Thanks," he said, and he meant it. He'd been wondering if anyone noticed his new cologne.

They each leaned in and shared a mutual, conciliatory kiss on the cheek.

With eyebrows raised and his best handsome smile, he offered her his arm and asked her, "Shall we go look for a huge machine that teleports an entire bank building from London to a space station in the Crawlawn galaxy?"

"Ugh, that old line!" she joked, taking his arm.


	12. Chapter 12

_**WELL, THIS MIGHT NOT PLEASE THE 10/ROSE CAMP TOO MUCH, BUT I DO BELIEVE IT'S HANDLED WELL. MY BIGGEST CONCERN IS THIS: IS IT CONVINCING? DO WE REALLY THINK THE TWO OF THEM COULD COME TO A DECISION THIS WAY, GIVEN ALL PAST EVIDENCE?**_

**

* * *

**

**WREAKING HAVOC**

The Doctor and Rose did not need to force their way into the main control room. The door was ajar and ready for the return of its rightful pilots.

"Okay, I'm looking for a com device," she said, beginning to cast her eyes about the green-lit room.

The Doctor did the same, in search of a way to undo the explosives in the building. Anything with a countdown or a friction pump, wicked obvious trinkets, since the Judoon were not the savviest of creatures.

As she searched, she watched the Doctor out of the corner of her eye. Should she say it? Should she even try? Finally, she just closed her eyes, and said, "Doctor?"

"Mmm?" he said, pulling levers, examining labels, opening panels.

"What did you do to that girl?" she asked.

"Who?"

"Martha, who do you think?"

He stood up straight and looked at her. "How d'you mean?"

"_My reputation precedes me?_"

"Well... you know..." he said, fidgeting uncomfortably.

"_Rose Tyler is a touchy subject?_"

He looked at her with sad eyes and sighed.

"Doctor," she asked very carefully. "Do you even _know_ what you did to her?"

"I've been slowly realising, ever since she left me."

"And why did she leave?" Rose asked, already knowing the answer. "Did you make her travel with you for two years and spend the whole time pining for me?"

The look in his eyes was answer enough. There was sadness and loneliness... and guilt.

He sighed heavily. "The day she left, she told me about a friend of hers who fancied a flat-mate, but the flat-mate never looked at her twice. He was fond of her, but he'd never return her affection. Martha told her to get out, save herself... I guess it took her two years to follow her own advice."

"Oh, God. You had to have known she loved you," Rose said. "I mean, _I _could tell and I've just met her."

"On some level, I knew," he confessed. "But I haven't allowed myself to acknowledge it until now."

"You know, if you weren't ready to travel with someone new, you shouldn't have done it. Your companion needs your full attention. You don't just pick up someone new, and be all charming and cute and then never look at her again. That had to have been torture for her, Doctor."

He grew defensive. "Rose, after I lost you... for about three seconds I wanted to die. I honestly wanted to just park the TARDIS at the edge of the universe and die. But then three seconds passed, literally, and life had to go on. This woman named Donna just _appeared_ out of nowhere in the TARDIS, and I had to hit the ground running again. It's a very long story... just suffice it to say, she showed me that I needed someone at my side, or else I become..." he drifted backwards and sat down on some sort of railing. "Oh Rose, what I could become if I traveled alone with my grief."

"Then pick up a bloke," she said. "One that likes girls. Go from planet to planet watching alien sport and ogling the ladies. Don't you know how to deal with rebound? Blimey!"

The Doctor smiled. "That never occurred to me. That would have been smart."

"Of course it would have. But now you've got some damage-control to do with Martha, don't you think?"

Defensive again. "Oi! While we're on the subject, let's talk about you and Mister Mickey," he said, standing up straight and pointing a finger at Rose.

Rose looked at him, astonished.

"That's right," the Doctor said. "You want to read me the riot act over pining? What about this man who's been with you since _before we met?_ And stuck with you through the drama..."

"It's not the same."

"Isn't it?" he asked. "Your birthday's just passed, hasn't it? Twenty-two?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"Did you and Mickey do something special?"

"Yes, we went out to a nice dinner, and he gave me a gift."

"Where did he take you?"

There was a pause, while Rose thought. Then she realised, "I don't remember."

"You don't remember? Wasn't this just two days ago?"

"Yes, hold on! I'll think of it!" She thought again, and then said, "It was an Italian place, I know that."

"What did you wear?" he asked.

"I don't know," she confessed.

"What did you eat?"

Silence.

"What did he give you as a gift?"

She looked at him, her eyes wide. As he asked questions, she'd been growing more and more appalled at herself. Mickey had clearly made an effort to plan her birthday, take her to an expensive restaurant, buy her a gift she'd actually like, and here it was two days later, and she couldn't remember anything.

"Now let me ask you this: When you were sitting at dinner, what were you thinking about?"

"I was thinking of the Aurora Borealis on Temple Planet Hazoron."

"That's where I took you the year before."

"Oh God," she sighed. Now it was her turn to sit down on the railing. She looked at the Doctor, again with wide eyes. "This is a disaster."

"Yep, it is," he agreed. "And it's taken us raking each other over the coals to see it."

"I can't believe Mickey's still with me," she said. "Not just my birthday, but the entire year before that. I'd cry, and he'd try to comfort me and I always swatted him away like he was a fly. And that's not even mentioning the two years before when I was with you, and he was at home, wondering if I'd ever come back..."

"Oh, poor Martha," the Doctor groaned. He stared off into space, and said, "Our first trip out together, we stayed in this old inn, and we had to share a bed. As we lay there, we were looking at each other, and now I think of it, she had this wistful look on her face, like she'd just caught a butterfly in her hand. And then I told her that _you_ would know how to solve the problem and that I'd take her home the next day."

"And she turned over violently so she wouldn't have to face you," Rose said.

"Yes, how'd you know?"

"It's what I would have done."

Silence hung in the air, and then Rose spoke again. "One time, Mickey brought home flowers for me, and I thanked him. But as I put them in water, I told him that you'd once given me a Periwinkle Orchid that emitted light and sang."

"I drew sketches of you in a diary and left them around for Martha to see," he told her. "Of course, I wasn't in my right mind at the time, but it didn't seem to do her any good."

"I went with Mickey to buy a suit when he was interviewing at Torchwood," she said. "And I kept making him try on brown pinstripes. He did it with this totally destroyed look on his face, and I had no idea I was doing it. He wound up buying grey tweed. Can you see Mickey in grey tweed?"

"I kissed Martha, and then later claimed it was a genetic transfer."

"I said your name in bed."

The Doctor seemed to choke, and then he said, "Okay, you win." They laughed almost bitterly together.

Then his eyes focused on something across the room. "I wonder..." he mused. He crossed to it, and opened the panel. "A-ha!" he shouted.

"What?"

"I've found the detonator! _Molto bene,_ with a friction pump, just like I thought! You see? The Judoon are thick."

"Good," she said. "Can you undo it?"

"Just need a minute," he said, extracting the sonic screwdriver and going to work.

On the panel behind Rose, a light flashed that hadn't been flashing before. It looked suspiciously like a communications device. She pressed the button next to the light.

"Hello?" she said.

"Ha-ha," Mickey's voice crackled. "Beat you to it. Who's the man?"

"You are, you're the man," she laughed. "Where are you two?"

"We found this great big room with something that looks like a recording studio mixing board," he answered.

"Mickey!" the Doctor cried, stumbling across the room to the com device. "That's the H2O scoop activator. You haven't touched anything have you?"

"No, you said the coordinates were probably already set," Mickey said. "First thing we did was call you."

"Good," the Doctor told him. "You two, wait for our signal, and then you can send us back to Earth."

"Ten-four," Mickey said, and the connection clicked off.

The Doctor went back inside the panel, and Rose heard the sonic screwdriver whirring once more.

"Doctor, what do we do?" she asked.

"I disarm the explosives and Mickey and Martha send us back to Earth," he said. "What part of that weren't you clear on?"

"No, Doctor," she sighed. "I mean about _us?_"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want me to travel with you again?"

He turned and faced her. She looked lovely in the dim green light. Her perfect blonde hair reflected the colour as if through a photo filter. "I do," he told her, expressionlessly.

"And I'd like that too," she said, equally without expression. "But we have this problem. Our... friendship, our relationship, our _being together_ or whatever you want to call it... it wreaks havoc."

"Agreed."

"The way I see it, you and I could just strike out across the stars together and pretend like we haven't just annihilated the very people who love us," she said. "Or, we could actually do the right thing."

"Quite right," he whispered.

She crossed to him and pressed her palms to his lapels. "Doctor, we spent two years together _constantly_ trying to do the right thing. We were brave, we made sacrifices, we fixed things, we almost died... _how_ many times? And now, we ourselves have _caused_ the problem. You and I have created the dilemma that needs fixing. Now, more than ever, I think we need to follow in our own footsteps and do the right thing."

"Agreed," he said, swallowing hard. "They've been there for us. It's time we stopped being selfish."

She sighed and lay her head against his chest, and he put his arms around her rather loosely. He could tell without seeing her face that she was crying.

"It's a pity," she said, her voice breaking. "I really would have liked to grow old with you."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Time was, I thought you would."

She looked up at him, her eyes were liquid with sadness. "I love you. But I think our time has passed."

"I love you too," he said to her, and at that, her tears came like little waterfalls. "But I'm afraid you're right."

And now nothing was left to say. The Doctor and Rose worked together to abate the explosions, while Martha and Mickey prepared to bring them home.


	13. Chapter 13

**_WELL, MY ADORING PUBLIC (AHEM!) SEEMS TO BELIEVE THAT DUE TO SOME CHARACTER TRAITS ASCRIBED IN MY STORY TO CERTAIN BLONDE COMPANIONS, THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER IS NOT VERY REALISTIC. UPON REFLECTION, I MIGHT HAVE TO AGREE. HOWEVER, I DO THINK THAT GIVEN ENOUGH TIME, SHE COULD DEVELOP INTO A MATURE ENOUGH ADULT THAT THIS COULD HAPPEN. PERHAPS IT IS, IN FACT, TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR HER TO BE THIS ENLIGHTENED AT TWENTY-TWO (NO OFFENSE IF YOU ARE THIS AGE OR YOUNGER - TAKE COMFORT IN KNOWING THAT YOU ARE NOT ROSE). _**

**_BUT, I SHALL PROCEED FROM HERE AS THOUGH THIS WERE COMPLETELY NORMAL... ROSE AND THE DOCTOR HAVE DECIDED TO CUT THEIR LOSSES AND PART COMPANY IN THE INTEREST OF TAKING CARE OF THOSE WHO HAVE SUFFERED AS A RESULT OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP. PERHAPS IT'S TRIPE, BUT I HOPE IT'S ENJOYABLE TRIPE. :-)_**

**_PLUS, THE STORY HAS BEEN FINISHED FOR, LIKE, THREE WEEKS. I'M NOT TURNING BACK NOW!!_**

* * *

**THE STORY GOES ON**

"Okay, I see how this thing works," Mickey said, studying all the little dials and switches on the board. "This one is for the depth of the building, this one is for the height, this is for the width."

Martha watched as he pointed to each, and as he did, it all made sense. "Yes! And this one here, that's for the volume of water needed, and this one activates the upward rain! We'll just have to hit that button when the time comes."

"But wait," Mickey warned. "Let's make sure we're not sending the building to the planet Mongo or something."

They both ran their eyes over the board. "Okay, I see the latitude and longitudinal coordinates here," he said.

"And I see what I _think_ is our current location. Shin-Fang 6, right? Okay." She reached into her pocket and extracted a pen, and jotted them down on her arm. "Tell me the Earth coordinates, and I'll type it in as the destination. Or I'll try anyway."

He read off the original starting-point for the Judoon's transportation of the building from London, and Martha did her best to enter them using a keyboard designed for the Judoon's beefy fingers. Then she extended her arm so that Mickey could read the destination coordinates and type them into the starting-point field.

The com light began to flash. Martha pressed the button. A voice crackled over the speaker. "Mickey? Martha?" It was Rose.

"We're still here," Martha said. "How's it going up there?"

"We're nearly finished," Rose told her. "We've disarmed the explosives, but now the Doctor's trying to get in touch with the Shadow Proclamation to see if they can send someone to meet us on Earth to dispatch the Judoon."

Mickey and Martha looked at each other with bewilderment. "Erm, all right."

A few seconds passed in which nothing was said, and then Martha could hear the Doctor's voice in the background, shouting as he always did when his adrenaline was pumping. _"Allons-y!"_ he was saying.

"Did you hear that?" Rose asked.

"Loud and clear. Prepare for landing in west London!" Martha flicked the switch with gusto. Within seconds, they could hear the rain outside, and then they felt the tremor. They held onto the control board for leverage, and then the flash of bright light came and went.

When it stopped, they could hear chaos once more outside. The Judoon squad was shouting all at once, people were screaming, and the sound of the Doctor and Rose trundling down the metal stairs was growing closer and closer. The two of them appeared in the doorway. Martha and Mickey jumped up and each of them hugged their loved one in celebration. "Let's get the hell out of here," he suggested.

When they opened the spaceship door at the bottom of the stairs, Martha took in the very welcome sight of London spread out before her. She also saw another ship parked nearby. It was white, saucer-shaped and looked practical.

"That's the Shadow Proclamation," the Doctor said.

Nearby, they could see Judoon squad members being escorted onto the white saucer by various entities, some more humanoid than others.

"Need any help?" the Doctor called out.

A female voice sounded in reply from a position near the opening of the ship. "No thank you, Doctor. We've secured the lobby so that no-one can leave until we've finished gathering all of the Judoon. And then we'll send the nice people home to their families."

The Doctor gave a salute and led his companions through the door onto the fifteenth floor, across the office space, and then down the stairs. The four of them chattered about the experience as they descended, joking lightheartedly, telling stories of their own fear, their own "I didn't think I could do it" anecdotes. Others in the building were doing the same as they, now calmer, came up and down the stairs.

The lobby was a sea of people. Martha sought out the two she had helped – one girl with possible concussion and the female security guard with a fractured rib. She saw the latter, and two men trying to help her to her feet.

"No no no no no," she cried out as she ran toward them. "I'm calling you an ambulance. You just put her right back on the floor."

Mickey sidled up next to her, followed by the Doctor and Rose. "Did you help this girl?" he asked.

"Tried," she said. "Not a lot I can do here."

One of the men said, "Hey, thanks for helping us lift that piece of marble."

"No problem, mate," Mickey replied with a little wave.

Martha gave information to the ambulance dispatcher, and closed her phone. Then she asked the Doctor, "Do you think we should call in the bomb squad or anything?"

"No, the Shadow Proclamation have already brought in some... beings... who will deal with that. I'm not sure a human bomb squad would know what to do with Judoon explosives anyway," he told her.

"Right," she said.

Just then, a voice sounded from near one of the main doors. "The area is secured. You may now leave the premises."

The doors opened and people began spilling onto the streets of London, where, as before, family members and friends had been waiting, holding vigil near where the bank building had disappeared. The four of them watched as relieved humans filed out, each with a really great story to tell at the next dinner party.

They were left nearly alone in the lobby, and they all looked at each other, somehow, without making eye contact.

"Mickey," Rose said, taking his arm. "I think we should be getting back. We have a report to make to Randall."

Mickey looked at her with surprise. "Really?"

"Of course," she said. "I'm not going to let you face him alone. Besides, my dad will be waiting in that awful white room for me, I can't just abandon him there."

Mickey and Rose faced Martha and the Doctor. "Thank you," Rose said to the Time Lord, "For everything."

He only nodded slightly, and said _you're welcome_ with his eyes. They hugged, and Rose whispered in his ear, "Take care of her, will you?"

"Yes," he whispered back.

"Same as you took care of me?"

"Yes," he agreed.

Rose turned to Martha. "Good luck, love," she said. "Whatever is next, good luck." They hugged as well, and to her surprise, Martha felt a bit choked-up to be saying goodbye.

Next, Martha hugged Mickey. They each pulled away and sighed. "It was fun," he said, smiling.

She nodded. And then, next thing Martha knew, Rose Tyler and Mickey Smith were walking out of the bank, hand-in-hand.

_This is __not__ how I thought this evening would end,_ she thought.

She turned to the Doctor. Before she could open her mouth to ask what had gone on up in that control room, he said, "Come on. I'll give you a ride home."

And now Martha Jones and the Doctor walked hand-in-hand toward the bank vault. He had left it ajar just slightly, so they heaved it open and stepped across the threshold. The old warm, familiar sight of the TARDIS greeted them as they did, and they went inside, both smiling, both relieved and apprehensive at the same time.

* * *

Rose and Mickey found an area in an alley just behind a department store. He took a device out of his pocket that looked like a yellow disc, and Rose did likewise. They held onto each other and pressed the buttons at the same time. For any onlookers (of which there were none), it would seem as though they had blinked out of existence. But in a millisecond, they found themselves back in the same spot, in a different London, in a different universe.

As they walked back toward Canary Wharf, Mickey couldn't help asking, "Rose, why did you come back with me?"

She didn't answer for a few seconds. She stared at the stars, looked at the pavement, made eye contact with other pedestrians, but said nothing. And then finally, she took a deep breath and said, "Because it was the right thing to do."

He gave an amused smile, and asked, "It was the right thing to do?"

"Yeah," she said. "Let's sit."

They sat down on a park bench on the edge of a little patch of urban green. Again, she waited quite a while before speaking.

"How long have we known each other?" she asked.

"Four years," he answered. "Why?"

"What did I give you for your last birthday?"

"A classic Led Zeppelin album on vinyl," he answered. "It was brilliant."

"And the year before that?"

"Those trainers I wanted," he told her.

"And the year before that?"

"Rose, what's this about?"

"Mickey, I can't remember what you gave me for my birthday two days ago. I can't remember where we went, what I ate, what I wore, what was said or how we got home," she confessed. "I know we made love, but my mind wasn't on you any more then than it had been all evening."

"Lovely," he said. "Just what a bloke wants to hear."

"No, I'm telling you this because I know it's not fair," she told him, taking his hand again. "You think of me all the time, you remember everything we did together, and I can barely concentrate on the moment."

"I've learned to live with it."

"You shouldn't have to do that."

"So what are you saying, Rose?"

"I'm saying," she said, choking a bit on her words. "I'm saying I want to make it right. I want to be _yours_ again. I want your devotion for all this time not to have been in vain. I want to be the girlfriend that I know I can be, and that you deserve. No one – not me, not you, not the Doctor, not even Martha – can be happy until we stop pining for the past."

"You don't want to be with the Doctor anymore?"

"I've decided that what I want is irrelevant," she told him. "I've spent three years imposing upon you with what _I've _wanted. It's time for me to stop being such a child. We are in a relationship, it's not just you towing the line and making all the effort anymore."

Mickey laughed happily. "I can't believe I'm hearing this! What the hell happened in that control room, Rose?"

"It doesn't matter anymore. Will you let me be your girlfriend again?"

He kissed her. It was the most engagement he'd felt in her kiss since... he didn't know when. He loved it – he dared to think that he might finally have Rose's full attention again.

Trouble was, he didn't want to be anyone's penance.


	14. Chapter 14

**TAKING CARE OF MARTHA**

"Do you have a new flat yet?" asked the Doctor as he fired up the TARDIS' many instruments.

"Not yet," she said. "It's only been a week! I'm staying with my parents."

"Oh yeah," the Doctor smiled. "Francine and Clive are back together. How's that going?"

"Between you and me," Martha said. "I don't think it's going to last. Tish and Leo and I try to be encouraging because we know it's what they want to hear, but somehow, I think their time has passed."

The Doctor looked at her and blinked. Then he settled back into the knobs and switches on the console. "Sometimes that happens, and you just have to let go."

Martha understood. She no longer had to ask what had happened in that control room because the look on his face said everything. Martha had watched her parents grow apart, then separate, and then attempt to be together again, only to find that the time in-between had changed them. They no longer fit. Apparently, in the year the Doctor and Rose had been apart, something had changed them, as well.

The TARDIS made its comforting grinding sound, and then landed smoothly. She peered out the window and found that she was across the street from her parents' home. She turned back to the Doctor and said, "Well, it seems like we just went through this a few days ago."

He smiled. "Funny, that."

She began to walk towards him. "Again, thanks for everything," she said.

Still smiling, he said, "You're welcome."

They hugged hard, as though the second goodbye was actually more difficult than the first.

"Promise me you'll _always_ call if you need anything," he said, still holding fast.

She could feel both his hearts pounding away, like two giant drums. She herself felt the full weight of this second goodbye, but she did not feel the nervousness or adrenaline that he apparently felt. She wondered if it was the aftermath of their latest adventure.

"I will," she said. "I know where to find you."

Finally, they let go, and with a squeeze of the hand, Martha turned and walked toward the TARDIS door. As she reached for the handle, the Doctor ran down the ramp and stood in her path. She looked at him with surprise all over her face.

"Please don't go," he said, his eyes pleading.

"What?"

He pulled her inside, away from the door and took both of her hands in his. "Please stay with me, Martha."

"Doctor, I can't. I have to get past this."

"No, you don't. I want you to stay, Martha. I want you to stay and _be _with me."

"Be with you?"

He hesitated, his hearts still pounding away inside. "Do you love me?" he asked after a deep, long breath.

She almost cried right there. "Yes," she said, nearly collapsing with the weight of it. "I love you."

"Then stay," he said, his voice breaking. "I want another chance with you. I took our year, which could have been fantastic, and made it about _my _angst, _my _past, what _I _was missing... and about what you could never be. And I never let you forget it. And now I want... I need to make things right. I want you to travel with me and feel like you have all of me, not just the part of me that's not off somewhere wallowing in loss."

"Oh my God," she sighed, tears beginning to fall. "I've waited two years to hear you say that!"

Tears began to fall down his cheeks as well, and he smiled at her through them. "I want us to go everywhere, do everything. Everything new, everything unique – no more of that rebound rubbish. You deserve so much better! I want us to have everything, share everything... share our lives, share our pasts... share a bed, if you want."

She let out a breath of surprise as a sob came out involuntarily. She couldn't stop crying now. "That's what you want?" she asked.

"If you do," he said.

"You can't force yourself to fall in love with me," she warned.

"No," he said. "But I've been given an opportunity, Martha. And I've just been too thick, too swallowed up in my own issues to see it. And I think... I _know_ I will fall in love with you. You are brilliant and beautiful and how could I not?"

"You don't want to be with Rose anymore?" Martha needed to know.

"My relationship with Rose was difficult, and wound up causing so much pain around us. It's like... it's like we blew up Manhattan and then walked away. Now, I've seen the error of our ways, and I'm trying to rebuild, do you understand that? It's no longer about what I want," he said. "It's about appreciating what I have. I used to be good at that. It's time to rediscover my inner-self."

She walked pensively up to the navigator's stool and sat down. "There's a lot of rebuilding to do."

"I know," he replied, beginning to close the gap between them.

"Trust has to be restored. I've developed quite a complex, you know."

"I'm sorry. Do it in your own time, Martha," he said. "I just want you near me."

"And it's not just about having _someone _near you? It's about _me_?"

"It's totally and completely about you," he told her, finally coming to rest, leaning on the console in front of her.

"You know someday you'll lose me."

"I don't care," he said. "I know now that the life we could have together is worth that pain. I have to give love its due chance again."

"And you're not just doing this because you're sorry?"

"No," he promised. "Will you give me another chance? Let me give it a go?"

She stood and gazed up at him. He cupped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her. This time, it was not a genetic transfer, it was the kiss of two lovers, ready to take the universe by storm.


	15. Chapter 15

**TAILS' END**

Mickey Smith checked his watch. He hated feeling rushed, but he knew he needed some quality time with her. He sipped at his lager and waited, vowing only another ten minutes. He was annoyed that she was late, but he knew he'd forgive her – it was in his nature to forgive the women in his life, even when they were inconsiderate.

Finally, just before he was going to get up and leave, her silhouette darkened the door. She looked about until she saw him, and then made a breathless beeline for the table where he was sitting.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said, plopping down across from him.

"It's okay," he said, as he knew he would. "Don't you want a drink?"

"No, we only have a few minutes, don't we?"

"I suppose so," Mickey conceded. "Get stuck with a patient?"

"Yeah, a haemophiliac in the ER," she told him. "Blow to the head with a garage door. Gauze, bandages, sutures... nothing was doing the trick."

"Please stop right there," he requested. "I'm not a big fan of blood stories."

She smiled. She thought that was cute.

"I was a bit surprised to get your call," Martha said to him, shimmying out of her white lab coat.

"I couldn't go without saying goodbye," he told her. "But I was a bit surprised to be able to reach you."

"Well, here I am," she said, a bit sadly. "Earth-bound and totally reachable by phone."

"I assume you two had your own little melodrama after we all separated."

"Yes. Yes we did."

"Did he tell you he was sorry he'd been treating you so awfully, and ask you to give him another chance, promising he'd focus on you?"

She smiled weakly. "Yeah. Same story on your end?"

"Almost to the letter," he said. "I know she meant it, but..."

"I know _he _meant it."

"That's what made it so hard to leave. I think this time she really meant it."

Martha nodded in agreement. "God, I wanted to stay _so badly_, I could feel it working in my bones," she confessed, taking a deep breath to avoid crying. "And I did, I stayed one night. We went to bed together... and it felt... just really really good, you know? And miraculously, I think he actually _was _focused on me the whole time. But then the euphoria sort of wore off and I knew. I felt weak, like I had caved, like I was being obedient somehow. I just... wanted out."

"Same here," he told her. "We went home and went to bed, and it was good. Great, in fact. Better than since before... but then I guess I felt the same way as you did. I was still following Rose, still playing it her way, and I was tired. I'm just tired, you know. I need some distance."

"Did she understand that?"

"Sort of," he replied. "Did he?"

"Totally," she said.

There was a long silence. Mickey sipped his drink and Martha stared at the table.

"So, how much do you feel like you've jumped out of a plane without a parachute?" he asked her.

"Completely," she let him know, smiling. "It's taking all of my willpower not to call him back here to get me. It's so scary, thinking I had my chance with him and _I _gave it up."

"Me too," he said. "Four years, my life has revolved around that woman. Waiting for her, comforting her, trying to make her happy or whatever. I don't know what to do with myself now."

"Where are you going?"

"California," he said, decisively.

"What made you decide that?"

"Flipped a coin. Heads it was Melbourne. Tails it was Los Angeles. Tails won out."

"Interesting way to make a major life choice," she said, crossing her arms amusedly. "Why on this side of the void?"

"It's where I started out, I figure it's where I should end up," he shrugged. "What about you? What's next for you?"

"I need to concentrate on finishing medical school and passing my exams," she said, leaning on the table. Right now, the way she felt, the task seemed daunting. "After that, the Doctor suggested I might look into working for UNIT as a medical advisor."

"What's UNIT?"

"Sort of like Torchwood, I would think, only military," she said. "I don't know. I don't think I'm up for fighting aliens anymore."

"I _know _I'm not. I used to be just this normal guy, you know? I wonder where that guy went sometimes."

"Now you don't have to wonder anymore," she assured him. "He can come back anytime you like."

"Yeah, I hope."

"What time does your flight leave?" she asked.

"Four," he said. He checked his watch. "Whoa, I need to be going." He reached for his duffel bag under his chair.

"All right," Martha said, standing. She walked him to the door.

"It was very nice knowing you, Martha Jones. And I couldn't have made this decision without you."

"Likewise, Mickey Smith."

The two friends hugged, and then walked away in opposite directions.

**END**

* * *

**_WELL KIDS, THIS IS THE FINAL CHAPTER. MY MOTHER WOULD BE PROUD OF ME FOR THIS ENDING. SHE WOULD FEEL IT IS EMPOWERING AND REALISTIC. I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT, FIND IT VALUABLE AS A MESSAGE AND DON'T FEEL CHEATED OUT OF A GOOD LOVE STORY. I THINK SOME OF THE BEST LOVE STORIES CAN BE ABOUT SELF-DISCOVERY. IT'S TIME MICKEY AND MARTHA FOUND A BIT OF THAT. _**

**_THANK YOU TO THOSE WHO STUCK WITH ME. IT'S BEEN A FUN LITTLE JOURNEY. :-)_**

* * *


End file.
